What is there to write about?

daisy-king Poems

I'm not here to write romantic (when I try it sounds sarcastic) and I'm not here to talk about the world we look out on through eye windows- it's only earthy, it's only dust and too much rain from too much sky or too much space or too much city, too sooty, too dry. I can't find the romance in a square of tarmac or even the rolls of sloping hills. Give me discourse on the stratosphere- for that is something I can lust over- on heaven and on hell and on all the demons between. Talk to me about the universe, per aruda ad astra. Write something for me and show me only when I can learn from it that there's more than the shimmering stretch of stone and soil between me and my appointment tomorrow at half past ten. It's not much to ask, when you think about it in a waiting room where minds have been lost; It's not much to ask to want a reminder that our lives are more than what listlessly lolls beneath our feet and that their prints are more precious than just stamps on sand or concrete.