Too often I lament the ideas
That have eluded my pen
But in mourning even one second
I miss what now is.
Take as much as I can.
Begin the very first chapter
Of my very first book.
The first is always the hardest, they say.
The first step,
The first day,
The first word,
The first sentence.
Day: April 23, 2009
9 hours without you brings out the horror of me
poetryits odd for a man so vein as i
to peel back the flesh and find
the underneath so bloody red
and oozing with forgotten pus
Murderous
poetryAnd he’s alright he’s
sure, he’s done this
before, he’s
got all his cards in line
got all his ducks in a
row. And he knows
just what he needs to do.
There’s a body between him
and you (not a dead one).
…(yet).
the sieve and the sand 