Mired in prose

Oct 14 2009 Published by in intransitive verbiage

I have been up to my eyeballs in the everyday. My creative matter is stretched to its outer limits just trying to keep on top of being original. I want to lay down my arms. They ache from being held up all day, reaching for something I know is right there. Nothing can be captured. Which isn’t true. I’m just using the wrong net, and I don’t have time to look for my other ones. They used to be right next to my pith helmet, but they got tidied. So I’m letting everything run between my fingers. I have nothing to be exhausted about, but I can’t seem to find where my energy went. I’ve half a mind to crunch everything under the delete key. This is the hard part. Letting words be strung together. I don’t expect you to follow me. I’m not sure these memories that won’t go away were ever how they kept appearing in my mind.

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