Some weeks, just getting a sonnet out feels like a victory.
---L.
As when a goldsmith draws a pliers pinchWhy, yes, I have been watching Olympics coverage, why do you ask?
of reddish metal through an iron plate,
but his gold's gone too cold for pulling straight
and so he strains for every wire inch;
and as a rower a length behind the leader
pulls hard with all she has, arms legs lungs head
burning with every stroke that doesn't speed her
because she hasn't enough to pull ahead;
so do I stare at this white screen, this row
of black letters as meaningless as the dead,
and for all I try to make this story go,
each word is drawn from under fingernails
as if by pincers, till I drop my head
onto the keyboard where my writing fails.
---L.