I put down the book

I pick up the book

My thoughts

My ideas

Are frozen……………

By the need to be

To do

To tie my shoes

To eat

To sleep

To do all that I should

All in the right order

 

I pick up the book

Open it and write

Something anything

I put down the book

I ask myself why do I bother

In my mind, I pace up and down

Twiddle my thumbs

Sigh and tell myself

This is utter crap anyway

Why really do I bother

Words come

And words go

I want to tear it up and walk away

Instead I pick up the book

I write a few words more

Ten twelve

My hand moves more quickly

Catching up with my brain

Chasing it across the page line by line

At last moving smoothly and rhythmically

Now jangles along

An even pony pulling a cart

 

I stop put the book down and go to the kitchen

The pony and cart rest

Bread and peanut butter eagerly devoured

Licking my fingers back to the book

Pencil in hand

I dive down one more time

I scribble

I scrawl frantically

Demented and deriding

All that spits and flows from my

Tortured aching hand

As speed now does not allow me time to think

Only to do

To fire on all cylinders

Until finally tired and spent

I have no more to give

I release my grip

A smile breaks as I lay it down

This book

This spiders web

Of heady meaningless charm

My head lays back

And I muse I would smoke a cigarette

If that’s what I did