The Newness Of The New

The newness Sat in front of the computer and waited A year ago, I would have said typewriter but time changes. Looked at a blank screen Struggling to remember what I had in mind But my head had an echo like a dog bark travelling for miles Only to drown by time. When the war is over, and the foregone is forgotten A writer will write what he thinks is original work, he Like us has forgotten everything worth saying has been said We write from a collective a memory We are not aware of ever being written. Since vandals burnt Every book in the world.