I don’t have the right words any more. Just an urge to write. The Work may be reaching its end…

I don’t have the right words any more. Just a knowledge that there isn’t much left in here. The Work took me far but it didn’t take me deep. At least, not deep enough…

I don’t have the right words any more. Just a need to sit without thinking, trying to come up with any words at all. The Work was a body without form; I tried like hell to add some to it and it resisted me, resists me, will resist my efforts…

I am trying for the right words here but the Work says, “no.” Just need some words I don’t have, a list of the right words, a roster of words I never had…

I don’t have the right words any more. As if I ever did; it was a folly, a fever, an analog mistake in a digital world…

The Work will go on without me. I ought to be satisfied, to let it go on. Just…I wish I’d had one poem to take me into it, to be carried away. All I want…but it can’t be helped…

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onward,
T
4/18/2025