Writing the Wall

How do I write from the dead spot
when feeling cannot feel,
and thoughts are jammed hard up
against the wall?

I write the wall–
its grey hard expanse stretching in every direction.
If I looked for a chink
in that wall,
would there ever ever be one?
Or would there only be
block upon endless block,
edges smeared with
more of grey, of
thick true mortar?

That is the challenge of the wall–
to study its very surface
or to wish it away and
write beyond.

  1. Great poem – I can relate well. It reminds me of quote from The Matrix … “There is no spoon.” – Neo

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