Somehow the lines bring

words to my fingertips;

cheap, soft paper,

everything I can't remember.

It comes pouring out of my mechanical pencil

when I flip this open and stare at

another blank page.

I'm working on projects in others;

sensory or "for-you's" or haikus,

but this is...

This is my sounding board because I can't

talk to the people who have offered and

the one I want hasn't.

This is and always will be

letters on paper;

dry, clean, American

letters.