I cannot come up with a thing to write.
I'm full of hot wings, Pop-tarts, nicotine.
I've had too much caffeine, too late tonight
and my head aches from all the Broncos' screams.
My brain would rather plan tomorrow's snacks,
which sweater, which jeans, which snarky remarks.
And maybe for once, I'll sit in the back,
then move back to the front before
class starts.
“Stay. No, go!”was the song of my weekend.
I hissed the tune behind my crooked teeth.
I'm the riot you were told to seek and
destroy before it leaked into the streets.

I admit defeat to indecision.

I'll write of my personal cataclysm.