tonight the pen..

   tonight the pen refuses to write.
not me.
it's never me.
i am always the
obedient one.
i always do what
i tell myself.
it is the pen that is
deviant.
clutching
one arm
with the other
does not help
either.
neither does,
  feeling sad do the trick.
mostly,
it does.
you see,
sadness
helps one be a
poet.
poet, indeed !
self-flattery is
usually the
preferred
path, to
happiness.
  neither does being a voyeur
help.
peeking at
the girl next
door
take off her
shirt,
through
the curtains
at the
window-
i don't feel
cheap
enough tonight.
  nothing. none of it brings
out the
words.
they behave,
like an
expensive whore
and i am
no moneyed
person.
the pen,
refuses
to
write.