Drawing blank bits of storyline. Sprawled
endings always scarce
And such is my story...both as writer and living person
Person in a state of living, to be more direct
I only know there's more to come
Though the future's content is a frail mystery...everchanging?
But if I keep sitting here, waiting, hoping...
Well...then I would've guessed at the ending after St. Rose
This is a little too obvious, this article...this thing here
but it's really all I'm inspired to write
The spiral wrenches all my ambition
to the point of disorientation
There is no up or down
It's all just open space
and this is where I falter
Making ink marks too tiny to see on the sprawling canvas
Rest assured, I've been judged based upon the untouched spaces
Wait! Now I've found another clue to it all
Just now
Use the whole page to finish your thesis
The void on the ivory pallet represents my remaining years
And the blots of blue and red and black, my past
This is for the void, this rambling
This is for the void, to whom it may concern
I did not buy this paper for the price of some fine arts
I guess that this is the point I'm trying to make
So this is for the void
(I wrote this in the late autumn of 2007, age 24, an age I don't remember much.)
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