Thursday, September 27, 2012

And yet again, I dive into a fountain of pennies

Diving knuckles first into a jar 
of generic peanut butter with a spoon,
 I call it dinner,

and I am spent.

Every last dollar of emotion has been paid
 into a week of writing, creating, believing

that pennies of words might turn to gold.

For a moment, I started to fall for a new beau 
and he played the role of temporary muse,

because that is what I know.

But he was as broken as I once was, 
a distraction, attraction, and a way to feel
something strong.

Yet I am determined,
this time story telling
will pay.

I will collect.