what happened when i lost my favorite pen

i feel them moving in
something has changed
over the past 6 months
and now
as normalcy begins to set in
i feel their eyes upon me
pacing within bound circles
they are
licking their lips
and rubbing their palms together
in bleak anticipation
they feel the approach
of eventual retreat
and of decay

you almost never see them coming
they live in the background
in a world of
tired stories
and missed adventures
a world where
creativity gives way
to acceptance
they are regulators
tepid disintegrators
seeking to edit us
out of existence

words rubbed together fruitlessly
like wet sticks in desperation
that’s what this poem is
an attempt to keep them at bay
for at least
one more day

some men refuse to die
while others
refuse to live

what secrets remain unspoken
god damn the number 7
the dream lies far beyond the horizon
and it’s hidden within someone else’s heart

i once told my kid
“you should learn the meanings of words,
and how to use them.
it’s becoming a lost art.”

words are my only weapon now
and on mornings like this
they are failing me



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