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