An innocent piece of plain white paper stares at my best song and dance.
Not too many amen�s coming from this pen.
My words are as hard as diamonds, but are just as difficult to find.
I�m stuck outside the margins.
Another tree screams, as I write limericks for the trash can.
No Picasso�s or Edgar Allen Poe-
Maybe just a scribble.
How else will anyone know that I�d been here?
SPRING 2008