tuesday, january 5

it's gotten easier with time
than in schoolpapers
and childhood letters
but writing never gets easy
the way that some things
have, like the mechanical
skills that any trade accumulates

like putting one foot in
front of the other until
you eat up the miles

oh i want it
to feel that way
but it never has and
never probably will

writing isn't like
mowing the lawn, or
painting a wall
i wish it was
it's more like
the long fevered arc
of some doomed but
magnetic relationship
like a marriage that swings
between desperate tedium
and brief moments of ecstatic