Raising the dead

Speaking of pages, here's an oldie.



Bad Poetry

More painful than bad poetry
is the accusing glare
of a blank white page
and the whispered taunts,
like swift razors, gone
before realization's bleeding sting.

But, I am no martyr
to suffer these bloody tears in silence.

Sacrificing poetic art,
I hold my wounds over the empty page--
a painful splatter of bad poetry
petitions the absent muse.