Tuesday, December 2, 2014


they stand in orderly rows
lined up
screaming at me to read them
the more they demand the less I obey

when I break a cover I feel overwhelmed
there is pressure from an invisible source
to study the art of nuance
or to learn anything new at all

I appease the gods
but I'm ashamed
I feel too old to start something new
which is a fabrication of my mind

open, open, open to a random page
tenuous moments when I feel afraid
I might learn to be a duplicate
of someone else

to learn is one thing
to duplicate, another
in order to succeed I must focus on the broad strokes

there is art in this
there is unbounded complexity
there are mathematical symbols
I grow grim with tension

in order for me to teach someone
I must first seek refuge in the pages
go to them over and over
but I am closed, closed, closed

I see a brutish woman
who barks more than speaks
and I remind myself of who I am
I am a different species

I leave the broken parts scattered behind me
I gather myself
and I step out, blank

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