These Lines Are Killing Me

I love the purity of the clean, white, page.

Just waiting for the hops and skips of my ink.

Waiting to be given shape and meaning.

Never realized how confining lines can be, until now.

How much they try to force thoughts

into words

into being

what they

the lines

want them to be


they want them to be


they want them to be.

A lot like life, these lines.

Never allowing freedom to be random and out of order.

These lines are killing me.



at a time.

But I’ve found a way out.

I have learned how to rush all the way

to the very end before

punctuation steps in

before final meaning.

What a thrill it is to steal periods and question marks.

To rob nouns and prepositions of their place.

To switch priorities and watch words;

feel them collide

into new meanings;

breathing new life

into the old and familiar;

changing chicken shit

into chicken salad.


I have found the secret of the clean, white, page.

Now, if only life

could be

as simple.


Next StoryWoman Under Glass
Previous StoryThe Catheter Blues