Work In Progress
Sometimes, it takes more
than a pretty picture of endless dirt road
to pull a poem out of me.
Sometimes it takes hours
of pulling my hair out with
my little leather journal.
Nothing sounds right.
But I keep writing
all day, everyday
about nothing
and everything
all tangled together
in bad poem after bad poem.
And in the end
the only thing I've written
about that endless dirt road is this:
I don't know what scares me most
the journey or the end.
This poem is about:
Me