CONFESSION

Certainly if an entire week goes by
and I haven’t written a decent poem–
a poem I would feel comfortable seeing in a magazine–
I’ll think of Hemingway. How he must have felt
before putting his mouth over the barrel of the rifle.
And though I hope to never get to the point
in which I feel there’s nothing left to live for,
I should probably develop some new hobbies
to fill the time and hopefully inspire me,
activities like macramé or painting by numbers.
Maybe even learn to play solitaire
since I do spend a lot of time by myself
with thoughts and memories that I’d like to forget. . .

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