Why I'm not writing
My poetry toe is broken, currently immobilized
with violet athletic tape to my index toe
We are remodeling; Spackle covers everything
including my desk and folded grey matter
Our house echos without carpet
the noise of my words is deafening
It's annual bureaucrat bean-counting
time; I am a bureaucrat
I wrote myself out in 2008
I have nothing left to say
Sometimes when I write, I miss my life
Sometimes when I live, I miss the poem
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