[let's not and say we did]

i know there is something to say
but it's not quite ready to be said

something about all the papers
   the scribbles
  the lines
      the words

something about all the color
   the paint
  the textures
       the black ink

put into boxes again and again
reviewed for
   worthiness
         again and again

what have i lost since
   last i came?
     what am i leaving with?
what have i gained?

because i cannot do a thing
s i m p l y

it is not my way

a catalogue of errors
things i have to answer for
but i can't push forward
     and i don't want to go back
so instead i drift
    here and there