on strike

i am in no mood for crafting poetry tonight
and yet i am desperate to be

the words, they tangle into knots
and spiral endlessly inside themselves

i may as well dip my spoon into alphabet soup
and see what letters float onto the silver spoon

poetry by divination
poetry by luck

poetry by dissecting the breath
between your lovers lips

poetry by dogma’s curse
poetry by silence

poetry by the story held within
the wrinkles on his face

i am fighting the fullness of words
that have no place to fall

struggling to order them into language
that translates and transcends

i curse the cursor as it blinks
staying in its place there on the left-hand side

i want to be emptied of these words
that have decided they

will not
can not

comply with me tonight

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4 thoughts on “on strike

  1. What a joy and delight to hear from you! And having this “fullness of words that have no place to fall” is so frustrating: what to do, how to sort, and how to bring them forth in an order that makes sense!? Thanks for the way you put these words together. They are beautiful.

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