I Wroted A Poim!

Today, I sat down and I wrote:

“I am the first coming of Rembrandt.

Before Rubens was, I am.

And when Pollock has crumbled into oblivion,

I will still be splattering order all over my canvas.”

And then I tried writing more, but it didn’t work.

So I deleted it, and I tried again.

And the second try was worse than the first.

So I facebooked for a little bit, and then I realized:

that poem will never be written.

It’s a shard. It’s a poem-fragment.

It’s like all of those wonderful novels I began writing when I was younger.

It won’t go anywhere.

It was about the clouds after a tornado-storm came through.

They were beautiful.

But I can’t write that poem. It’s just not going to work.

Instead, I’m writing this.

I feel like this is more a lecture than a poem.

I feel like smashing my computer for sucking out all of my inspiration.

I feel like I’m done with this poem.

Or lecture. Whatever it is.

Long live awkwardness!