These crumpled pages prohibit empty words
with significant causeA simple feeling,
not worthy enough
for the world to see
An incomplete story
…worth finishing
The short poems and raw prose that we
long ago abolished when we barely started
… all sit under beds
couches
desks
booksThey wait for us to return with a
writer’s hand and an ink-filled pen– but we leave them there,
for the spiders to read