Written <br />12: 03: am <br />I begin between these black lines- <br />white spaces blinking back- <br />my two hands outstretched <br />crafting nothing; <br />I cannot write; <br /> <br />crossed; <br />blocked, stoppages, <br />tea cup emptied, <br />usual tricks limp- <br />my muse bereft, <br />I am alone with <br />the fulsomeness of it. <br /> <br />12: 15: am <br />My Gods are all adrift. <br />My well's dig down <br />out of reach; <br />my mind's fount's dry-asleep. <br />Panic now <br />in this chronicling. <br /> <br />12: 20: am <br />Poetry's realm from me retreated <br />a cruel feeling; <br />that which came so easily before <br />is now silhouetted dimly. <br />I cry <br />a dry uncryable tear. <br /> <br />12: 53: am <br />I cup <br />a new cup of cold tea. <br /> <br /> <br />1: 03: am <br />Whatever this is <br />come to me <br />gradually curiosity <br />now feels greater than <br />my writer's grief. <br /> <br />I want to see <br />the outlines the specter is <br />to write nothing when nothing's there <br />no face <br />no driven ideas <br />no words span <br />no creativity transformed or fixed.... <br /> <br />1: 33: am <br />Hushed <br />I lie down with it; <br />exhausted on my bed of paradox- <br />it's experience embraced. <br />I am swept to the surrender <br />of writing about the nothingness <br />at my pen, now shaking. <br /> <br />2: 53Lam <br />three drafts; <br />a small epiphany: <br /> <br />Ample is all experience <br />no blank lines will ever reach <br />or witness. <br /> <br />By this <br />my last lines written <br />after <br />2: 53: am <br />from listlessness and nothing <br />to expressions of same- <br />poetically- <br />minor miracle this.<br /><br />Lonnie Hicks<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/written-4/
