We take the sweet with the sour in art. i'm not a fan of this poem. but i don't shy away from my failings as a writer. so i put this up as an example of what one writes in the waning moments of a wasted writing morning.
can’t write this
can’t write this
because the opera music
is too loud
i want to tell the dj
that opera music is never
a good choice
at five in the morning.
can’t write this
because there are too many
emails
to answer
and web sites to view
because the tea is hot
with just the right amount
of sugar.
can’t write this
because i’m hungover
and hungry again
because i have to shit
but don’t want to because
i’m not ready to hear the neighbor
pound on the ceiling
because the neighbor doesn’t want
to hear the sound of my toilet.
can’t write this
because the mood is not right
the stars are not aligned
and i’m becoming a primadonna
because i am thinking about
the novel again
and can’t get up the courage
to attack the poem
can’t write this
because i read elizabeth bishop
and now i’m fucked up
and i read james wright so
what’s the point
in me putting down the words?
and this week has been such
a mess
work and death and pain and wind.
ah hell,
i can’t write this
i should’ve stayed in bed
where i was thinking of the past
and it was warm
and the cats were sleeping
not crying for their food
can’t write this
because poems don’t exist in dreams
and the dj was playing something soft
in my bed
without the horrid ring of human voices
before the pale of morning light crept
through the curtains
and made me get up
to write this.
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