I have begun to be uninspired.
Little pieces of poems with a blank, surrounding screen.
I do not remember when writers block set in.
I do feel, however, that I can escape this listless typing.
With a little help and a lot of research on new words,
I can become un uninspired and unlost.

the cupboards empty

open, close

open, close, open

close

a half sweep out of Alamance
spool me crooked 'round her waist

close, open

close, open, close,

open

I can feel her
bristling, bruising under me
I need it, need her,
need her good to extend to me

open, close

I hold her close
too close
too tightly

wringing cloth
of praise

where can I touch
what gap can I bridge

open, close
close, open

so I'll be an off-branch from her
so closely synonymous
to be held in the same breath

let me in
let me melt into her

until there is no part of me left to drive out

the cupboards empty

open, close

open, close, open, close

open