I can’t write. Hate when I can’t write.
I’m not allowed to write. So why would
I follow path’s suggestion? Seismically, there.
Plates, frustrated, enflamed.
Reading Plath. Who’s reading me.
Bsides me. Sharp fins into night context.
Hated by logs ignored. Succinct, not much.
Not anymore. Look at me, texting poems
To Self. [That shouldn’t have been
Capitalized.]. No dance on this
Floor. Bury lines in characters other,
Distant. Refusal to sign. Sick of views..
They’re only meant to leverage. A sale.
Walking away, branch’s claw tapping shoulder right.