Monday, August 27, 2007


Line after line smearing off into elephantine
scrawls as I try to recall which way
the pencil goes, I who can't organize
my mind to spell out what ails me sit staring

at my blog bowed under the weight
of the thousand thousand rivulets of print
I can't remember writing. My mind keeps scabbing over -- and then I pick and pick it

until it bleeds . . . and I am myself again,
my heart rejoicing that I am I and not
someone other who afflicts me like a stranger

hiding in my room, whispering with affable,
red-faced jocularity that if you're nobody
and nobody's tormenting you why do you cry out?

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