When the Dam Breaks

 

I don’t know what to say, again.

It happens every so often,

when the wells run dry

and the usual flow of

words are stifled at the source.

 

Dammed up behind some

casual comfort.

Cut off behind a wall of boredom

and repetition and repeating myself.

Again.

 

How much more have I got to say?

Do I say anything?

Is there meaning in the work that I

do with this?

Is this just an exercise in self-delusion?

 

At least I’m getting exercise,

so that’s something, I suppose.

Supposing, is something I should

do, in the creation of these poetic

word shavings.

 

Ick, word shavings?

Really?

That’s like that magnetic poetry

on the fridge just got nudged and

the words “word” and “shavings”

fell to the linoleum.

 

And I was like, “Ooooh, a neat-oh

phrase! Let’s put that back on the

fridge. Look how cool and very 1990’s

this all is.” As I buff my fingernails

on my shirt in pride.

 

It’s not doubt though,

it’s more like a lack of purpose.

Why say anything if there’s nothing to say,

nothing to write?

Rote obedience to the words, I suppose.

 

I’ll just have to find something

worth saying.

At some point.

As I am compelled.

When the dam breaks.