What's Left
It is all on the left now,
piled up and waiting to move.
Cameras and pens and recorders and tuners.
four-tracks and cassettes and boom boxes
no one wants.
I have let myself get caught up in all of it,
tangled like a dolphin in a fishing net,
fighting and struggling to get
free,
unable to find my way out.
Dead.
Now,
I want nothing to hold me.
Not my past,
or bookcases,
or dressers,
or books.
I want to wake up in the morning
with nothing and no one,
and sit down to write,
knowing I have no one to answer to,
but my pen.
No comments:
Post a Comment