You don’t want to be written, do you?
Must we fight at every step of the way?
Locked in contention
blocking up the windows and pushing
shirts under door frames
air thick with artificial mist
thumping that one song from years long gone
thrashing every line with a doubtful mind
pulling words apart
and stitching together abomination.
And so if you labor under that same hateful yoke
take my love and my silent respect
as you attack your blasted craft and slowly carve
the world inside your head.