excuses

The weird thing about writing is
I can't write when I'm bored.

Give me the hour before a math paper and  you'll see
margins of books littered with rhymes, with plots ,
with worlds of buildings made of words.

Give me the five minute shower
I barely have time for
and stories will make themselves
in my head, will cry to be let out
so much that
I make stick figures
with soap on the fogged
mirror.

I have smuggled tissue into
interviews
because this word, just this one needs
to get out so much.

and in movie theatres where
I type alternate plot lines on a text draft
to no one.

But give me a day, like today
like yesterday.
when I have nothing to do.
I'll stare and backspace a million times.
but I will have no words for you.