here's what i see:
this stupid screen
this wretched cursor
this so called technology
right in front of me
for all to see
and an almost empty bottle
that i drank
solely
to help inspire me
to help
get it out of me
finally
gone is the romance
of the blank white page
that constant reminder
that you've yet to
write a single thing
and the crumpled disregards
surrounding me
strewn about
everywhere but inside
the waste paper basket
that we used to see
in movies about writers
like fante, see...
it's too damn easy
now
just to find something
that stimulates
in a new window
control plus shift plus w
what a fucking mess we've made
really
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