Get Out the Vote (2)

I took the pen from my mouth and put it to the paper
I pressed hard so as to funnel myself through
To enter the length of the barrel
Winding the spring tight
And dousing myself in the blackness, the clarity of the spoken word
My thoughts defined by the whiteness between
But reaching the end I realized that there is nothing of permanence in performance
There is nothing of meaning in speaking
And all of performance in permanence
What worth has a man if he tell his whole life
And can’t put his name on the page

Wrists release in tension and pen lingering down to the page
Cartridges roll loose even as the fingers begin to dance on the page
And time lets loose of the unkown restrictions of the heart
If feet were not tired and hands were not tired would I be running so hard writing so fast
But there is nothing of what I spoke in my writing
Nothing of the said in what I read
There on my own page