There is nothing like a blank page
to suck all the words out of my head
and send them, where?
Things I was pondering not more than a minute ago
have drifted into the ether
not stored on any cloud I know

There is nothing like the blank page
to mock and critique
What do you think you are doing?
Killing trees for this drivel?
Pouring industrial inks out
in long squiggly lines
they are going to end up in the soil you know
and your grandchildren
will be poisoned by your words
in more ways than one.

There is nothing like a blank page
to harass you into productivity for its own sake
that the blank page needs to be obliterated
with lines and lines of scribbles and wiggles
nothing making sense

Until the fourth or fifth paragraph
the blank page does not know
that you have to write your way to the good stuff
the real stuff
that the beginning is just a false start
to be disposed,
it’s ugly like the first piece of pie
pulled from the pan.

There is nothing like the blank page
to turn the brain to teflon
not a thing sticks to it
and it’s all you can do to try to catch the fading aroma
of the idea from the shower.

There is nothing like a blank page
To clear the mind
unless it’s a blank screen.