Blank pages
rise up
and begin a dance
that taunts me;
each sheet
fast enough
to escape
the swiftest movement
of my sharpest pen.
I reach for my coat
and my hat
and I head out the door
yet everywhere I go
there it is
my typewriter
clickety-clacking
a melody
without words.
– matt at shadow of iris
blank pages
nice one
“dance that taunts” love it.
Thank you, Isha!
Oh the blank pages … I know the feeling. We have no escape dear friend neither from words nor from blank pages. This is neat.
Tiku, they’re still dancing …