Writing As A Form Of Exit..... Poem by RIC BASTASA

writing is a way of finding
an exit
you feel choked in your
own prison fingers
the night is as cold as the hands
of the dead
five days ago, stiff and
out of this world,
you are helpless
your calls
and pleas for help
are wilting weeds
there is no rain coming
if there is
it washes you off
it is when you can do nothing
about the situation that
you opt
to write, feelings concrete
and sharp as nails
hammered on paper
stuck, and when it is finished you view it
oh, how so unimportant
a thing that does not deserve a time of your worry
something that they can laugh
when you tell them
they do not even give it the dignity of
their ears
it is a kind of worry about
nothing at all
and so you are opened like a tanzan from
a coca-cola
bubbling, effervescent
and then
gone, it is all air trapped in
a short lived
bubble.