I envy you.
I wake up
some cool mornings
with a single word
burning my brain.
Leaving smoldering brands
deep in grey matter.
You lilt through pages
ripping through them
with termite tenacity.
Word after word.
Carving landscapes
of a thousand colors.
A thicket of sentences.
I sit.
Head throbbing.
Trying to make
that one word
as big as a mountain.
2 comments:
This is poetry's counterpart in name alone. This project makes me realize that I may not be a prose writer. I liked the way it turned out, even though I could spend more time on it.
Awesome companion piece to "Poetry," buddy! You capture that shake-your-fist-in-the-air frustration that prose writing is, especially for those more versed in poetry. The envy is felt.
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