p03m

On January 11, Afrika and I went to LACMA. It helped dispel some of the writer’s bloc that I had been feeling, which I captured in the poem below prior to going.

It flows and floats

From off the pen

I don’t want to correct it again

It’s rubbish, it’s trash

I wish it would fix itself

So my brain I wouldn’t have to rack

Make it belong to someone else

It’s my pride, it’s my joy

My precious, my peril

Fertile thoughts that I sometimes wish were sterile

They’re not good enough

Or they’re always too good

Believe in ourselves-

I wish we all could