I fill yellowed paper
With blackened silence.
There was a time
When I ejected words
Mass produced,
industrialized and cheap.
In plastic. And well
packaged
so that they wouldn’t
break
An adolescent
obsession
Don’t we all love to
write
some poetry? Sign our
name
On paper. So that we
exist, at last.
Yes, there was a time
When I poured out
meaningless words
With pleasure and
pride.
With inspiration. And
now
I fill
Yellowed paper
With a grim silence
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