the platitudes of willful resemblance

I am captivated by my own world and have nothing to really say about it. There are so many typos in the sentence that this one is replacing that I’m not bothering with the original. My coffee needs a filler and I am waiting for my turn to practice my instrument. My son first practices his as his future involves these things and only my past does. I have written a single poem this year and last year by this time I was up to around 28 or so.

I am staring at this black piece of paper

with four poems waiting to be written;

drinking coffee but

wonting for something else entirely.

my ears are dirty with grime

and later I’ll shower.

right now I am not adjacent to godliness

but God doesn’t drink coffee

or smoke endless cigarettes turning on the next line.

– Hoc Scripsi

I am waiting for something to say that I haven’t already said better for fear of repeating myself but maybe that it all I need to do – repeat myself better or worse and watch trains rumble by while I drink fresher coffee served by baristas that long to do something different – even if it as meaningless as what they perceive they do now. It’s palpable. the wont.

I am trying to quit but running out now to smoke another instead of type type type bang bang bang on the MacBook with the loose key. It is nearing time for a new or newer laptop and I cannot decide if laptop or tablet or nothing at all and force myself to travel down to my office where the desktop is and write there – adjacent to the IBM Selectric III and Buddha.