from the guilt

i think about writing
to recover the overwhelming sense of guilt
i get
from not writing
and i learn

i like the guilt
or the pressure from undulating vowels
syllables
and mechanistic grammar
using my uvula as a punching bag

resting on my clavical bone
stretched out on the fantastic idea of romance
and heartache
and the times when i think so selfish
sink so slow

i think about writing
and the prophetic escapism it allows me
torture in the abstract
bruises from theory
and palpitations from the conceptual

i like the guilt
and i know it wont serve me well
wont slip a pen in my hand
and keep me from wandering into dirty conversations
dirty and deceptive monotone squealing

resting on my clavical bone
i wait impatiently for the tune to a key
and for a key i cant reach
driven from the guilt