on and on again

when the page turn

burns

the writer's hand

a grimace grows

surfacing the strands

of captured particles too bland

to turn the twisted

trip again

as the sunlight

fights

against the night

the struggle of

forgotten sights

resumes its earnest empty plight

even when the product's

trite

it falls apart and leaves a scar

while forgetting who you are.

douglas brent smith