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I made the mistake
Of visiting
An old, unfinished poem:
“Just lend me a few words -
I only need a few words to get through this…”
“I can’t” – i said -
“You know it’s not a matter of a few words…”
“I have to go…”
“…Just a few words…that’s all I need…”
”I’m sorry..no…”
“why the hell do you keep coming back then…
...get out…”
Back on the street, I think:
“Why do I keep going back?"
"Why is it so hard to let go
of unfinished poems?"
Why?
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