And the day came when the risk it took to remain tightly closed in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom. Anais Nin


Screen Play

I can write about
anything but you

It’s always too early
or too late to incarcerate
my senses
uncoil thoughts into words
drawn from the infinite vat
of language

Can I forgive the
melodrama before you?
I lived around the
corner from despair

This time, despair is the
invisible man and you are
Bogie, Tracy, or James Dean
and I write about them
until I can write about you

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