& All I Wanna Do Is Write

You build castles on your dreams- bridges of lovers dangling going places nobody walks to remember anymore, & all I wanna do is write. You make mosaics of thoughts & shine disenchanted light beams from outsourced wisdomaniac platforms- charge a dime for a dozen of vaguely cast shadows- preaching the masses out of their disillusionment, & all I wanna do is write. You fix the broken, unable to turn the blade forward far enough to reach yourself yet you continue to break the unbroken to get to their decrepit bits & suture the unwanted back to being whole- selfless, & all I wanna do is write. Make memories for your memoirs when you sit down in your boxes- make moments make melody- move man, because all I seem to make myself wanna do is write- beyond the fiction, in between the hum drum of our action the beats of rest only found on pages, a lasting tenant of the landlord remarks of ages. Making your moments matter, a hallmark card full of dark matter. Tiny plot go boom. In the span of 90 something, if you're lucky then plus ten- you will follow those bridges, break those mosaics, & even turn the blade. & I will be lucky enough to write, because all I wanna do is write, but I would rather not be assumed as a writer.