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painting flowers when the ground is still bare

I can not write and all I paint is flowers,

I sketch sofas and paint flowers.

this is weak and weary

this new town is beautiful but all the music has been turned down.

It is hard to dance without a beat


I vacuum my bed and eat soggy rice and lentils.

I try to write beauty, to spill poetry on paper

but this is all I can force out.

just a drip from the teapot, a small stain on paper.

strum my guitar and go to bed.


One response

  1. oneofheavensown

    Your write is always so beautiful Emma! Even when you seem to not be feeling creative. That is where beauty comes from. Within the heart, and truth.

    March 30, 2011 at 4:01 am

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