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I’m grateful for the forgiving nature of the page
the way it receives me as I am, so few constraints except
almost too many ways to sate its emptiness.

The page asks nothing: YOU bring the question
while answers writhe in sprawling, untidy thought, forced
consonants and verbs. The page is nosy: tell me who

you are, what you love – word by harrowing word
don’t hesitate, don’t judge, don’t neglect the pen
in dim procrastination. Make Mind reveal what

Mind is chewing on, then turn it into
substance – I dare you to create substance.
The page is forgiving: it allows

mistakes and rambling nonsense. The page is
tough love: it absorbs you what you’re
made of and holds it cold, stingier than gravity.

The page is flexible: you can obliterate it
with a satisfying tear or burn it to ash.
The page is demanding:

You will apply words to your existence. You will not
abandon the exploration in the middle!
You will give your ideas legs and eyes and fingers

and pulse. You will expose your hang-ups
and dreams and moments of inside-out confusion
wells of epiphany and untapped love. You will give in

to lurking desire to be exactly who you’re becoming right
now on the last line of the last page at the edge
of the relentless beginning.

 

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