I spend a lot of time
flipping through the pages
looking for typos and errors.
Trying time and time again, red pen in my hand,
to spot, to correct the problems.
It’s all a cipher.
Symbols meaning nothing.
So I draw little circles in the margins,
arrows here and there.
Crossing out words writing new ones in all in the
hope that this brings it closer to a final draft.
The pages do not end
and the revisions do not stop.
New rules come and rewrite with
So I burn the pages,
slice them to bits.
Nonsense and disorder are not the same
but it sure as hell feels like pain.
—"32" -J.T. Prescott