today
shall be a day
of writing
he whispered
to himself

and
he awoke
to an abstract
h

so
he lay
in bed
writhing
as
three bombs
explode
inside his head

this
is not
the start
he sought
he thought
as the abstract h
held sway

if
it is
truly
mind over matter
what matter
does one h
hold
he ponders

simple surgical precision
is
required

an unexacto blade
to
incise
the troublesome letter

between
electrical blasts
of pain
he stabs

the three
becomes
a tree
outside an oak
is
torn asunder

close
but no
cgar

dammit

he readjusts
stabs
again

ow
can tis
bastardly letter
old
such power
e tinks
frustration growing

ten
it all coalesces
into a fog
of
sooting silence

e can write again
in
peace
in
pieces