can't get settled / some thing holds me back
not sure what it is / can this be any more vague
what i'm curious about it how words are become ing
sense less to me - - words are be come ing un familiar to me
words i've read a million times / words i've typed thousands of times
& sudden lee they look confusing / is that the right spelling
is there even such a word / / or / / i type one word / meaning an other
like typing fox in stead of max / / / fax fox max
tic toc tax
hands ache again // cold makes the body hurt
ah my own worst enemy / / look in to the mirror
& what do i see?
i see me looking @ me / / i am
for gotten forget / get for
wish i could think of some thing poetic to write
all things be come some thing
*****
blech / a scab feels like a sliver
picked prodded / ah the poor sore finger
i wish i could write other than winter white
so biting cold / all i can think about is how the
cold freezes my lungs / can't bear to be out in it
finger s go numb dead / white / finger s dumb
sure these words / sense less to you / but
carry / in side / so much more than / / mean ing
mean ing less
low lying fear nags @ back of the brain
could this be the year / could this
the year becomes / ano ther number
2005 / oh shit / ano ther one gone
& these children grow taller / the older ones
i can't relate to their bodies any more / baby mother
cord cut / i no longer wash them / or wipe bums
i get shown body parts / sore toes / feet with warts
bruises cuts / / these little ailments we all must learn
to live with / the extraordinary ordinary / there must be a bit
of pain there some where / to sustain / keep / move for ward
certain lee the birth of pain begins be tween the legs
cries of the mother / shocking light
& these children grow taller / consume me
& every bit of food in the house / the priority
is to eat / & run / i am sad & relieved to see them grow up
an epiphany of the writer lee sort
this bother of editing has come to an end
what is the use / the purpose of ever editing any thing
except to show off / & then / st.ill there is no thing to show
no one will every read these / words so many surplus / poems / poetry
so then i wonder why it is i write / / cathartic / she supposes
as the writer slips back & forth from first to third person / you
can not remember who the second person is / / some how there is some thing
so predictible about the writer / it be comes a chore of epic proportions
& the read er must go to bed right now / because who really has time
to read the bound less / end less / oh what is that word / verbose
she just goes on & on - read a short poem / / besides no one could hear you
for maximum effect / don't say any thing @ all
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