Pushing away
scribbling notes frantically on a page.
Hoping something of sense,
of worth,
would come out.
That it would spew forth
or erupt
onto the page and out of my brain
like so much inspiration
tallent overflowing.
Rushing, racing, pushing
past second hands ticking by
on the watch.
Hand supporting weight
of my head,
so much in there needing
to get out
out
out
onto the page
into the world.
Seconds push past
I cannot keep with the pace
of my pen
or my mind.
I know in the dying light
that I will fail
to fully convey all that is there
bubbling, burbling, roiling
under the surface, the baricades
rocks, mortor created to push it down
and away.
To move it out
out
out
of thought, pushing, pressing
my pen against the seconds of the clock.
