shelves

bowed beneath the weight of words
books - read, unread
authors - dead, undead

and I am sharpening my brain
as if it was some fine pencil

aspiring to write
something hopefully
not too
leaden

Gulp

It is honed, polished

my eyes are dotted
and my tea is cold

I fear that I left
far too much man
and you
out of the script

and the plot ...

well, we'll not talk about that
I had one once,
somewhere

swallowed with a gulp
when the agent asked
for the whole

but it is gone, sent

a press of a key

and the watch of a bar
crawling across the screen

damn, but I need a drink
and the Darjeeling
is not going to quite
hit the spot