Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Poetry vs Reality

Pregnant moons, and the metallic backs of beetles -
making lace of lilies that once held hope
in the curve of their praying leaves...

I have too much to do to write,
creation requires
time. I haven't got
7 days to give birth
to contextual beauty.

I don't have
the beauty to lend
to my text.

Instead, there is work,
driving me well into the sunrise
fueled by insomnia, unpaid bills,
and a tepid McMocha
three hours old.

There will be no more pregnancy,
and hope has become
a mathmatical formula
within the lines of a spreadsheet invoice,
held for mailing next week.


  1. If a McMocha can retain enough heat, three hours after passing throuh the window, to be considered "tepid," I have to offer that piss-warm is better than stone-cold.

    But you knew that.

    How are your travel plans coming along?

  2. God, even when you have no time to write you come out with these freaking brilliant lines.

    You got the freaking talent in you. Woman!