I’ve been having immense guilt over not writing at all lately—I tend to be all or nothing, so if I can’t finish a piece, I don’t bother to begin it, it seems.  In hoping to break out of that, I at least wrote something.  (And I finished it, to boot.)

i cannot think tonight—
my mind as blank as the page
ideas as fresh as week-old lettuce
wilting in the dregs of the crisper

my mind as blank as the page
blue lines on green paper
wilting in the dregs of the crisper
daring someone to make salad

blue lines on green paper
crumpled up, inside and out
daring someone to make salad—
i toss it, instead

crumpled up, inside and out
it may be redeemable—
i toss it, instead
better luck next time

it may be redeemable—
ideas as fresh as week-old lettuce
better luck next time
i cannot think tonight

poetry writing