words of a people aligned in their perfect order
reading old poems over and over
not knowing what to put out there.
the drought extends itself to judgment;
extends itself to dreaming.
a .357 can solve anything.
but,
I’ve been known to take long walks.
– Hoc Scripsi (unfinished and probably not any good either.)
why not good
i like it.
the main stanza offer something familiar to any art person
and the last two lines with their placing and form make of it something which is much more than the usual “O my god i have a writer block” works
the platitudes of willful resemblance 