Saturday, August 31, 2013

My dissertation is almost done.

Author’s Pain

(for all struggling writers navigating an unfamiliar genre)

Let the landscape
be smooth rolling hills,
fields of new-mown lawn
or green pasture.
But what I produce
instead are sharply chunked
wooden blocks in jagged
angled upheaval.

Words gasp out of me
falling on paper
like spent cartridges
rather than fertile seeds
hoped for.

Progress comes only
by stretching hamstrings,
scraping knuckles, elbows, knees,
tearing sleeves or pant legs
caught by hidden thorns
which harbor delicate jewels
of shining phrase
or flowing logic
not quite visible
almost out of reach
without exhausting

I fall asleep
each night to suffer
chaotic dreams
where the nightly problems
live long into the paragraphs

of the next day.