I’m Not Writing

This isn’t writing, this is pushing buttons with fingers dressed in  sterling silver and tigers eyes.  This is letting thoughts jump out of the tips of  fingers that once used to let themselves curl into my palm while my thumb did the job of getting a ride from here to there.  Anywhere but here, please.  There was always better than here.  The streets of Hollywood and dusty Arizona rest-stops a welcome respite from a life that then never felt like mine. 

This isn’t writing.

I’m not writing.

I’m waiting.


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