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A weekly video reading of poetry by the poet.
by Puma Perl
i stared at the blank screen. is there anything more mundane
than staring at a blank screen, is there a writer alive
who has not typed, more than once, i stared at the blank screen,
could there possibly be an opening sentence more hackneyed,
more trite, than i stared at the blank screen?
i stared at the blank screen and i considered the fact
that i am most of the way through this National Poetry Month
Poem a Day pledge and that i am not one iota closer to writing
the poem inside, the breathing living mass of letters and sounds
that is mine, that molds itself into the shape of the face and body
i might have had with fewer drugs and more sleep, the poem
that kills the censor with brass knuckles and steel balls,
in a voice that is so the me in me that my friends and enemies cry
or laugh or curse the day they met me as my saga continues.
i stared at the blank screen and i realized that i was not any closer
to any understanding of matters more urgent than the poem i may never
write or even read –and wondered if i even cared about the twists
of the universe, and if i’d be secretly relieved to learn of impending
disaster, and why I couldn’t find my way into words and images
that reveal my deep ambivalence, my lack of enthusiasm for sunshine
and daylight, my boredom with dreams of death.
i stared at the blank screen.
i had nothing new to say, but i said it anyway.
the blank screen suggested that i go fuck myself and spit the letters
right back at me.
the letters hit me in the face and ran down my neck.
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