There was a time
when I wrote poetry:
just sit down and write it,
that's what I did.
I knew I was flawed but beautiful.
I assumed that someone was listening.
--a long road from there to here;
when did I forget? and when
did I stop being in love?
You have to love the words to write them.
Now it's painful
to write and not scratch them out.
I wake up like other addicts,
not knowing how I got here.
Perfection is the drug;
I gazed into the mirror so long
self-critiqued so finely, with such art,
that I disappeared altogether--
I filtered the clear water
until none of it was left
So now there is a time
I just sit down and write it
until the water runs clear again,
just like that.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
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