writer's block

by shira

i cannot write
poems, no.
more

i'll try try try to try harder.
yes, i can't know
how it is to be
a real writer
since i attempt perfection
the way birds fly south
in little v's
yes yes
that's what my striking lines through weak words look like

vvvoom!
i can erase so quickly
strangling nice rhymes
i'll make clash and spark and smoke instead

not a typist or a novelist or a journalist or a prophetess
i can
write with a pen
and type with my hand
while the other one
is scratching my head
is pounding
with each thought i fight
and kill
before getting down
i let them get away
with murder

they kill the trees
i just throw away paper
when i've wasted the language's time
typing hundreds of words per minute
clapping my hands for hesitant impulses