03.22.09

Today it's about fragments and words,
post-it notes and colored flags.
Random research bits and messy poetry.
I want to write about s.e. but that would mean
wearing my heart on my sleeve
andI'd rather lock it up tight in a box.
Lock it up and throw away the key.
Even cliches...are thrown in for good measure.
There is nothing new to say...it's all been said before.

I spent the day in silence...reading texts, poetry, essays.
My eyes are weary, my notes are mounting and my brain
won't stop going to the past. Trying to decipher between
history and myth. Trying to make sense between poetic
license and actual memory. Strands that bind.
Knots are unraveling. Who writes when the poet sleeps?

I can't remember my dreams these days
and that always puts me out of sorts.
No sudden movements.
I keep trying to write about the past
but there seems to be a strange wall
that I keep hitting my head against.
Do you think if I keep hitting it I'll
break through? Then I wonder why
my head aches and why my heart
breaks. I held on too tight for too long.
So I spend a lot of time alone
because I have no patience for
I-told-you-so's that seem to echo...
adding salt to the wound...
they say time heals all wounds...
but when exactly does that happen?
how long does it actually take?
can someone give me a time line
because I think I'm long overdue.


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