There is dust on
the wall.
I watch it hang in
little wisps.
I’m distracted by
everything.
All of it.
The small and large
items of life have me
chasing my tail, and avoiding
the pen.
I postpone writing, like I’m
ending a bad relationship.
I avoid the tough
conversation.
I dance with impotence and
procrastination, like they are
lovely women.
I need to write.
I must create.
But there is an
antagonist at work in the
trivial details of my
existence.
It smells like copper.
It hides the ink from
my mind.
It would rather I do
anything else:
promote
market
masturbate
dream
sleep
eat
watch TV
or sometimes,
just stare at the
dust on the wall.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 20th, 2025 14:18
- Comment from author about the poem: I've been trying to build a website to promote my writing, I think I would rather build A BARN. (IT'S A REAL PAIN IN THE ASS. LOL) www.thomaswcase.com My book Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems is available on Amazon.com and my limited edition e-book is available on booksie.com here's a link. https://booksie.chainletter.io/i/thomaswcase888
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, rin
Offline)
Comments6
I know that same entity a hell of a friend that would rather drink and smoke.
You got it. Thanks.
Another great read, very real and honest
Thanks.
You are very welcome
Dust gets everywhere uninvited.. even between the most inconceivable cracks .. Neville ðð
Sure does. Thank you.
I feel your pain on the website, my friend. Poets do not necessarily make web developers! ðĪŠ That said, it looks great! And your poem rocks too! ðđð
Thank you so much.
You're welcome
Fine words Thomas.
Andy
Thank you.
Maybe Miss Havisham was a Poet the way her house was.
The Ironic thing is I put off reading Books and other things to write the Poems. And well expressed Poem.
Thank you, my friend.
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