Don'T You Know? Poem by RIC BASTASA

despite my love for it
writing also gets tiresome
my seat is hot
because i've been sitting
for a long time
my head is on fire
my soul is burning
my heart is that burning
bush that Moses watched

those that see me here
only see a body sitting on
the cushioned gray computer
chair, hands running like a child
on the playground of keys
as though everything is
alright on the park
even without the teacher
or the mother

it as though there is no
problem
but really there are
in fact too many

the writing seemingly
not diminishing
nothing solved
my ring finger actually aches.