resigned to paper
resigned to paper
as the overture to the
marriage of figaro plays
on mozart’s birthday
resigned to paper
six o’clock in the morning
plotting a novel
i’ll probably never write
waiting on the sun
resigned to paper
with hardly any sleep
with a sick wife passed out
in the bedroom
and me in the living room
trying to remember how to write
on paper
resigned to paper and mozart
a book of yellow sheets
with blue lines
just waiting for me
to assault them
with the fire
with the nerve
with everything that i got
as the sports and weather come
on the radio
resigned to paper
resigned to it, to you
married to this life
of shitting out words and ideas
like a madman
like some kind of houdini
like some kind of fool
resigned to paper
choking on the pulp
of another poem laid to rest
in a pauper’s grave
before the amber of the next
streetlight fades
to ozone and the day.
an answer to li po
li po wrote
we bustle around,
looking for what?
so i answered
why, for a way out.
always for a way out
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