Failure to draw

when my fingers fail to draw,
it is not a matter of pen and ink.
they fail to draw from my thoughts.
they wander, my fingers; caressing through memories.
and yet they fail to grasp a thread and weave.
wallow you must not, therefore, in memories like quicksilver,
for if you draw for a living, you could end up hungry and cold.
ps: lucky for me, i mostly pick others' thoughts to draw.

Waiting for magic

ah mythical worlds.
fill me with immense hope.
in the silliness that we read as children,
as adults become our retreats of assurance.
my dragons, my lions, my centaurs, my dwarves,
worry not... our time will come.

A weekend of nothing and everything

A weekend of nothing
took everything away.

Everything arranged itself,
into neat pretentious piles.

As long as it was out of the way,
it was a weekend well-spent
with nothing to do for everything
and nothing being everything enjoyable.