writer’s club

virginia filled her pockets with rocks

and walked into a river

sylvia taped her doors shut

and crawled inside her oven

anne took a swig

and started her car to nowhere

ernest, like his fathers before him

an old fashion shotgun to the head

them and us and i

we were given too many thoughts to manage

and we failed to keep the dam up

to keep out all of those endless loops of words that

just kept flowing,

kept us reminiscing of a deeper emptiness that could never be articulated

the world of writing was never meant for the faint of heart

but so often madness has met creativity

and became the most arduous of lovers