Today is NOT a day off, but I can't seem to get down to work on Chapter 5. I'm having trouble finding David's voice again. It'll come, but I can't force it. Instead, I wrote a poem and have developed a really hilarious spoof of Elizabeth Alexander's snoozer of an inaugural poem.
This about sums it up:
All the images of death I've even seen
real, filmed, or imagined
carry far less terror
than the panicked white
of an empty page,
so like skin drained of blood.
The only thing to fill the emptiness is fear.
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