Madness files my nails
to repetition…I look for
answers to form from
dried ink on my fingertips,
curse their silence, and
tap them together in
hollow applause hoping
to encourage flesh
to see what I can’t hear.
Minutes turn into hours
as I doggedly repeat
what doesn’t work,
and blame the clock
for what my mind can’t speak.
Have you ever tried to write
the color of the sun as it burns
a rose from red to brown?
It can’t be just yellow or orange
because the bloodletting of petals
is too sinister to be addressed
from a primary box of crayons.
Blind…all seeing…somewhere in between?
Visions and words alphabet my eyelids
yet nothing stays long enough for my pen
to collect a sentence of worth.
A poet…pfft! Perhaps I am…Maybe not.
There is a certain insanity about staring
at white paper hoping it will be blighted by ink.
Susie Clevenger 2021