These past months I have endured the most agonizing writer's block. Yesterday, I wrote. Here is my first attempt back. You may recognize some of the lines from my posts. Hancock John has the best pens. He has pens you can use and pens he wouldn't’t trust you to touch. In the evenings, he draws lines. Lines with pens. Lines of words. Straight lines. Curved ones. Horizontal lines you could climb up to the heaven he drew. Sketched clouds you can ride, sail downwards to the core of the earthy lines. Dust blue off your butt, wipe at wet ink puddles. It’s smeared on your face. Dive in to the darkest night line into the most remote pond. Swim laps in the smoothest scribble from his most secret pen and build towers with the words he writes. 11/1/2006 Have you ever had stitches that were supposed to come out or dissolve on their own? When I had surgery on my leg, I had those stitches. After it was healed, I noticed a stich poking out of my leg. So I pulled it and it was one long string. It was painful because I could see a foot long string coming out of my leg, but when it was out, I felt like I had just written this poem. | 
