“to all the writers locked in their rooms
punching the air at an invisible balloon
hammering away
on a slick device
away from husbands
away from wives
a thought bubble
pops like a blip on this blight
to all the keepers
of their own only fate
now we must stay inside and wait
no smile or subtle vibe
with the local barista
no fearful exchange
with that cop on vista
the bank teller tells no one
for heavens cripes!
i’ve slept through the morning
i’ve slept through the night
i pace the study
i plank when i can
i ought to become a better man
when all this fizzles
we’ll be covered in fluff
a consciousness metamorphosis”
âJenny Lewis
_________
Photo on this page via THE BAY BRIDGED.
Featured image via Pinterest.
