writing
is a lonely business
the hum of the power washer three houses away is my
only companion today.....
the dog asleep....unstirred by the sound..
as i sit here and peddle my wares online to
strangers.....i am lonely....and unplagued by thought....
so much that the emptiness is sickening....
the blank page awaits...but i have naught to offer..
unless of course Mr. Riordan seeks me to claim the
life of one of his characters....i would accept...
muse.....under M in the yellow pages.....if not
there.....then where....
how can i feel again...
bitter tasting hand without a pen....
empty and resound the loneliness surrounds.....
but wait the Archaeopteryx sleeps on a cot upstairs
and now she has someone who seeks her.....
Ray Bradbury....the only one who seems to care at
this moment if i am whole or break into pieces.....each word on the
page....guidance....a cure for this day...
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