The pen is new motel life isn't one I don't yet have the feel for the other has felt me all over felt with me felt for me felt me over many years one is straight lines and round barrels full of engineering more suited to sketching or drawing rather than writing the other is long dimly-lit corridors where solitude creeps by or is engraved on the key fob as it stands on the uniform drinks tray
The waking pain showed itself excruciatingly in the eardrum yet there was joy in the editing of my previous writings the memories of the night before will be forgotten the dreams of tomorrow they will be pressing ever onwards the half-repaired LED still flashes as the construction workers outside the window commence their working day
I am at a crossroads or at least I believe I no doubt soon will be my writing it seems is searching for a new direction I am losing what I most relied upon I don't see her or feel her anymore with that intensity which I feel I need to instead I take a new pen from the pocket in another motel bedroom I write these words for no one I go nowhere to find my inspiration
I pour water down the oil well and think of my foot pressed hard on the gasoline pedal
