Certain habits of thought keep
me from moving forward.
I have no zeal.

The pencil
picks an unmelodious mantra.

 

Tangible un-skillfulness.
awkward and clumsy
scratches at old notebooks.
Rogets takes the piss.

 

Screwed hands halt the drone.
dispatches nothing of much worth.
I think today
with creative juices, semi-serious.

 

Sod this strange business.
Desirable,
yet at times,
quite
quite
unattainable.