To a Blank Page
You have treated me this way before: stared at me unyielding as a lover who has changed her mind –
poker-faced as the Queen of Hearts, who sits impassive on her secrets, giving nothing away.
You are an empty plate,
a promise of abundance unfulfilled,
a diet with no calories;
a frozen untracked snowfield, unshadowed,
hiding every hint of stone or bush until April, at least;
a pitiless white desert sky, where buzzards cut and wheel above the bones of dead ideas.
Well, take that! I’ve put my marks upon you; your blankness is no more; you are defeated this time.
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