Thursday, July 17, 2014

GRAPHEMES ARE THE SCAFFOLDING

You may start 
to think 
reading this—that

there's 
images present—or
at least 

being conjured—

perhaps of balmy
mid-July 
mornings in wide-open 
city parks

each kissed 
with 
seagreen grass—and flush with
the spotty occasional 

rosy rash of
little sticks of kids
toddling
off in the distance—that is

until the lush 
quiet fields 
start
to fog up—from the rush

of fresh 
steam quietly gathering
up on your screen 
from a close-

at-hand coffee cup—
dispelling 
at-once any lingering 
mistrust

of the fact that I've really just 

been punching-
up 
a plain 
and blank white page

with all—
or at least some—of the 
same-
old-same-
old 
twenty-something sorts

of characters.

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