I used to write a poem a day
but who am I kidding?
I wrote not one but two
may be three? may be more
It was like cleaning a house
Sometimes with a broom
Sometimes with a vacuum
Sometimes with both
I hated to see the shutters of my mind
accumulating dust
It made my view opaque
so cloudy so unclear
But lately, I left the dust accumulate
till the shutters couldn’t open well
and now
I’m trying to clean it
And clean it
by writing and writing
but the dust is so thick
too thick to fully clean
