I crave a black blank page;
to fiddle and nurture and craft
something to sustain the corporeal slush,
this ambitiousless  mission, this motivation-adjacent 
stuff

In lieu 
I bounce on the spine of thine
old cardinal directions, jacking 
off dead statues and promising erections

Its not that I’m flimsy 
And its not that im hard,
Im actually quite ready to 
sculpt with these shards

what’s barren beckons, but the leaf is
so white, and I’m so green, or so blue, 
these translucent pages
I trip on what is new

I crave a blank black page

-ft