September 9, 2001
I keep listening but nothing’s happening

I sit wondering about the journeys ahead… how many people can I become before someone whispers, “Times up.” Writing takes me to the introduction—my hands greet the new strangers… my soul turns thought into reality… if you don’t believe, my back is what you see. What I’ve created is a blank space—emptied into a world who thinks it’s ok to be a label maker. I don’t write to write… if that were case, I’d use blue ink, and a Bic pen.