My Green Floor

look at all these notebooks
I have them scattered out on my green floor.
Weathered and bare in spots
scratches of age and movement.
Dragging and sliding
rubbing and walking.
I’m digging, you see.
through all this paper
and ink
to find something real.
Something that doesn’t just scratch
and rub.
Just something other than
scratches.
Something more than a shadow
of a shadow of a thought.
Something better than letters,
Pens, and these God DAMN SCRATCHES.
The wood is bare
in places.
The paint is lifted
and my green floor is
a motley brown and green
Like a dormant lawn in early spring.

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