howdy, y'all.

"this page intentionally left blank"

  presenting the preceding phrase as a paradoxical parthenon,
      persisting through publishment in perpetuity.
      
                    and inside of this marble monument to confidence-streaked incorrectness -
                      a scroll upon which is scrawled a mundane message:
                              there's nothing to see here and that's exactly as intended.
  
      and yet, after all this time, i can't be the only one who's noticed, right?
      
  centuries of human history,
      bound impeccably within the slivered scabs of entire forests of trees...
      
    like, i hate to break it to you, but if this page was indeed, truly, blank...
  
                  it's delightfully oxymorose.
  
      but i get it, i do.
            blank pages are a glowing 4x damage weak spot of mine.
  
  i stand before a firing squad of locked and loaded questions,
  and the last thing i hear is "where should i start?"
  
        but don't bother googling an answer, i already did. the top search result is "at the beginning".
    hashtag relateable, right? platitudes and gratitudes and soccer mom attitudes.
    
  ...alright, you can live love laugh at me but i'm serious.
  
      is there a phobia for when you have a crippling fear of starting fresh?
  because i don't get scared of almost anything     (i've driven in houston, don't at me)
      
      but i'm a perfect chicken in the sense that
      i've spent much of my life cautiously pecking at keys.
  
                  putting pen to pristine paper is my achilles quill.
  
        i agonize aggressively over each alphabetic atom,
        assembling a passable semblance of insufferable speech.
  
                        my fingers hover over letters full of untapped potential,
                        ten bony damoclean swords when all i need is a mighty pen.
  
  i'm shivering in the marginalian trenches,
  inventing new ways to say i'm doing a whole lot of nothing,
        rather than charge feckless across
        the snowy fields of untitled document.
        
        
                i've been dodging the rough draft for years,
                because the thought of spending my life
                  fighting a war against the unwritten word?
                  
      it sends chills down my shrimpy slouch-ridden spine.
  
  
          clean slate for sale. chalk never used.
  
  so to avoid the void, i will turn sideways and slip out of these white walls
                        and stare directly into the full, warm black
                                      to see the world through the glass of your screen.
  
  gazing through the glossy window pane that separates you and i,
      me to you, i am compelled to give it a little tippytap.
      
  now, i've seen where they put up aging sticky notes that say you shouldn't do that,
        you wouldn't want to cause a meek, captivated critter's heart to race.
        
                       but today, after years of respectful obedience,
                  and facing the prospect of having to actually fill in the blanks,
              i must give in to this urge.
  
  i can glimpse beauty more easily beyond where i am sat,
      away from the trappings of my own cagey words,
            and i want to acknowledge it, embrace it in a strong hug,
                  because if i know one thing,
                        it's that the corrosive nature of silence leads to regret
  
      so today, i tap
  	                    tap
  		                        tap
  
                                    ope,
                                      fear not.
                                  i see you,
                                        gentle
                                      bird.
                                      
            (to be frank, i'm not really much of a birdspotter,
            but i don't need to be great uncle ed to know
            a tiny flying dinosaur flapping at me when i see one.)
  
  so whether you're a flighty voyeur or a twitterpated cheerleader,
        a grackley stranger or a true columbian bluebird of friendliness, don't be shy, i'm watching over you.
  and i've built up this spot into a birdhouse, and with a palmful of breadcrumbs and a heating pad, i say please nest a while if you like.
  i welcome the company.
  
  join me as i sit on my hands, crisscross applesauce at the bottom of a mountain made entirely of fresh, clean letter-sized pages.
  i am daunted, daunted but happily alone in the majestic presence of another human.
  it's only a small misfortune now to know that my task is over before it's begun, lost before i started, failed during its inception, and 
  
  what's that?
  oh, how funny.
  this page is no longer intentionally left blank.
  
  ~kc