I soak in words scrawled
at one time in notebooks
or punched furiously on typewriters
or typed neatly on computers
somewhere in the past
by an author who seemed to know
exactly what word needed to go where
to continue the story
an keep me glued to the page
Until the pages run out...
And I'm grasping at straws,
trying to get my hands on
the next book
the next story
the next plot
But to no avail.
So I bite my fingernails
(metaphorically)
and wait; reading stories
that suddenly mean nothing
because my mind is still
wrapped up in a different world.
No comments:
Post a Comment