The Art of Chewing Crayons

My fingers flick and twitch eclectic

kept in motion with dyslexic

thoughts and ramblings running frantic.


Searching for that right connection

bridging art and craft’s dynamic.

I need a voice for words hermetic

not just grunt sound expletives

that twist communication inward,

threatening neural net short circuit.


Sleep is lost, boiled dry in rage:

at failure evident on page,

of my ineptitude to write

a single line of elegance,

to please the ear and mark the soul

of those that read my crayon’d scrawl.

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