My mind dribbles
like brine strained through a cheesecloth, I know
I will lose another poem now, somewhere beyond the end of
bitterness.
But I sit here, and I cannot
just sit here.
My forgiving fingers poise wearily, before they start to strum
things into the yellowing prosaicness,
into that tired and quenching familiarity of mine, that soothingly stales,
for a sparse while.
I would stay up writing all night, all night,
if I did not know better, if
I did not know that all my fingers will ever feel is what slips
through them every time ...
like brine strained through a cheesecloth, I know
I will lose another poem now, somewhere beyond the end of
bitterness.
But I sit here, and I cannot
just sit here.
My forgiving fingers poise wearily, before they start to strum
things into the yellowing prosaicness,
into that tired and quenching familiarity of mine, that soothingly stales,
for a sparse while.
I would stay up writing all night, all night,
if I did not know better, if
I did not know that all my fingers will ever feel is what slips
through them every time ...
Pic by JasiJas
2 Kommentare:
nicht ALLES läßt sich schriftlich festhalten...insbesondere nicht, wenn sich die Gedanken überschlagen.
Bekomm auch nicht immer alles geordnet..seufz
Wie wahr Bea, jedoch ist mir das noch nicht so häufig vorgekommen. Kann also nur besser werden ...
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