i don’t know what to write
[i don’t know how to write]
my brain has been sucked dry
and all that’s left is
stardew
valley
i don’t know what to write
[i don’t know how to write]
my brain has been sucked dry
and all that’s left is
stardew
valley
turn off the brain
turn on the writing
turn on the morning
the focus and the words
that mean nothing
that mean everything
if i don’t think too hard
if i don’t think hard enough
if i simply stop thinking
maybe these poems
may make sense
eventually]
the poetry isn’t flowing this morning —
it’s dripping
coagulating and spurting and leaking
that is to say
it’s still coming
just in fits and starts
and stops and lags and
drags my whole sense of self
along with it, whether it’s
coming or not
and all i can do
is try
to stay on for the whole
ride
when one job
one gig
one life
gets in the way of
another job/
gig/
life
it’s annoying
it’s frustrating
it’s bad but it’s not terrible
because this is what i mean[t] when i say[said]
i cannot
stay in one lane
my
entire
existence
[so i suppose
this is the price
to pay]
if i write of the sunlight
the sounds outside
the playlist and the air outright
is that disingenuous to myself?
not feeling the morning page poetry
this morning
but that doesn’t mean
i won’t do it
i mean
i continue to do this
every
single
morning
whether i’m in the mood or not
just to have something to do
just to have a habit to latch onto
just to have some proof
to say
‘i was here, i had thoughts and feelings and insights, too’
and maybe someone will read them soon
and maybe someone will read them in hundreds of years
and maybe
because they’re all digital
they’ll disappear into the ether
but
maybe the ether will get a kick out of all these poems
and they and the void can talk about me
behind my back
when i’m long long long gone
i wish i could be
creatively consistent
with rhyme scheme
but as it stands now, the found moments
hit well
but any effort at keeping it up
sound contrived
and like a five-year-old thought it up
and while that may be fine for some
i think i need to stay doing what i do best
for the sake of getting
all my words
out
so
perhaps someday, i’ll write in true verse
but today
[and tomorrow
and all the next few/many mornings
of morning page poetry]
i’ll stick to free-form
writing for aeons and aeons
just to find a concept i’d
never attempted
to understand
feeling disenchanted
with words
my drive to churn out
poetry
or prose
has been quelled by the concept of
more interpretative media
music?
painting?
cake decorating?
what will my next endeavor be?
[and will i still come back to poetry
every morning]
[i mean, i haven’t stopped in literal years,
so probably]
interesting
how i’m experiencing a page-turner
of a story
i want to imbibe
that is being created in my mind
but the only way to find
what truly happens
is when i commit
and write
even when i plan ahead of time
i have no idea where this story
is actually going
guess i have to write