Monday, April 7, 2014


Today my tongue is tied
and the more I try to unlace it
into poems the tighter the knots become.
The more I feel like a prisoner dawdling
the units of a writers block with shackles
handcuffing the breath in his fingers.
So instead of using brute force,
like a younger, more savage,
inexperienced version of me would,
I write about how it feels to to watch
your world crumble before your eyes
and not be able to find the right words to save it.
The right bookmark to page it.
And I know it sounds feebleminded,
but if your reading this poem right now, than
it couldn’t have been all that bad, now could it?


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