Because I cannot focus on a night like this, after a particularly demanding week, I've taken out a stack of old note cards and have been shifting through for the past...who knows how many minutes.
Not wanting to shake up Something to hide?
this particular board
Always like this, but why?
You there. Me there. Different theres.
Spare me.
The were on the same page,
just in different books.
My feet have never been colder. Legs never more like jello.
When you're alone, there's no pretending.
Only being. And that in itself is beautiful.
So disillusioned to think that beauty like that could survive.
Elliptical motion.
Looking out on the gym from across the street.
Cat Stevens.
Got off that damned machine
and started to breathe again.
BUT
all these things
these pieces
they don't define her.
she doesn't let them.
Even if
they are truly
parts of who
she is.
She's in control
she writes the
book.
She defines the words,
the elements,
they don't define her.
Retreating to some more writing now. Something longer. Something more sustainable than tidbits of thoughts. Power bar like thoughts get me through the afternoon, but it's about time for a dinner-sized piece, don't you think?
No comments:
Post a Comment