Nothing Notable Here.

Nothing Notable Here.



This pen is my prison
holding my
guarded thoughts,
with it's shiny
blue cap screwed on tight,
and all sharp points
tucked neatly away from me
lest I hurt myself again.

The keys of escape
that monitor
my long needed
release of thought
from locked brain cells,
are also useless.
They taunt me with
the many alpha-bets,
that I have lost
money, and time on.

My pencil has a leadache.

My P.C. which is often
my M.C. has had a D.+ C.
nothing can be born there.

I could build
the Taj-Mahal
with my mental blocks,
and still have enough
to wall the Mexican border.

I am an empty vessel,
all inspiration
has aspirated.

The beloved thin-kings
that ruled my
royal typewriter
have lost their subjects
no prints will
save the day.

I am an outcast
sitting under a poetry
with not enough rope to hang.




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