sometimes the well is dry

sometimes the place where all the good stuff is fermenting is empty

the moths are dead at the bottom

the gnats are long gone

even the dust has found a better place to settle.

sometimes you look back in your online web log to see what you were doing 10, 11, 12 years ago and of course you were raising your fist at authority, screaming at the shadows, banging at the door

dancing in the tournefortia.

oh to be young and beautiful again. oh to have the adoration of thousands.

bring be back to the days before facebook and twitter and paypal and instagram.

back when blogs roamed the earth and ideas flowed as freely as love.

remember when nba cheerleaders and their sisters would camp out waiting for their favorite blogger to get home from the busstop?

remember how the southern girls would type letters in their bathtubs, ink smearing, misspelled words typed over with hashtags

letters sealed with lipstick and drawings, phone calls with drawlings.

thats where the well is.

gurgling well well well

whispering al gore

is dead

coughing up dust

ask the dust

it’ll tell u

ask it