hours drip slowly onto a taunting empty page the soul’s depictions brushed simply
a palette of whispered words dry as if it were thoughts painted onto a tightly stretched canvas
it's been said so many times before similes,... form clots at the tip of the quill words,... finally surrendering to gravity’s flow as the ink scribes the paltry ruminations; flooding the same stifled notions another way into another moment
metaphorical sleights of hand incarnate onto the absolving sheet of parchment; traces of past now’s ensconced in considered words
miles of silent reverie, spun,... like a spider reprocessing, carefully savoring each fine silk thread of web,