Today I write about nothing.
The blank page stares at me,
ready to embrace anything.
I draw a stick figure over
the bare body of the lifeless sheet.
it pretends to be me; I pretend to be it.
I spilled my wine... Purple landscape.
I drown in it. The phone rings...
“No one alive to answer!”
A crumbled ball... Trash can
This is really cool -- makes me think of a Taoist sage poem, or Zen . . . and it's a refreshing "take" on the (any) writer's frustration~
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