Why I Don't Write Sometimes
Filled with the stems of never doing stuff.
I have enough dominos that could slam into me.
Like old stuff, who knows.
Why don’t I write everyday?
When writing-whispers happen all the time.
But that’s them.
The stems of not doing stuff are like broccoli stems.
But that’s who they are.
The art of writing sometimes sits in me like I ate all the dominos.
The writing-whispers get chopped up.
Bent blades do all the work.
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