And Seven
The old typewriter mocks me.
It sits there, my scribbled notes, more crossed out sentences and arrows drawn between paragraphs and over pages, laying impotently on the desk beside it.
And, the thin, crisp typewriter paper rolled around the carriage roller now covered with dabs of white correction fluid.
Stereotypical balls of discarded attempts pepper the floor around the trash can in the corner. (Some strange law of the universe keeps these balls of symbolic frustration from ever actually entering the can, no matter how accurate the throw.)
“Let’s start a fresh sheet.”
The clock in the living room dings once, marking 1 am.
My father sighs and rubs his tired, red eyes.
I’ll never get this stupid book report done.
©2023
The old typewriter mocks me.
It sits there, my scribbled notes, more crossed out sentences and arrows drawn between paragraphs and over pages, laying impotently on the desk beside it.
And, the thin, crisp typewriter paper rolled around the carriage roller now covered with dabs of white correction fluid.
Stereotypical balls of discarded attempts pepper the floor around the trash can in the corner. (Some strange law of the universe keeps these balls of symbolic frustration from ever actually entering the can, no matter how accurate the throw.)
“Let’s start a fresh sheet.”
The clock in the living room dings once, marking 1 am.
My father sighs and rubs his tired, red eyes.
I’ll never get this stupid book report done.
©2023
The old typewriter mocks me.
It sits there, my scribbled notes, more crossed out sentences and arrows drawn between paragraphs and over pages, laying impotently on the desk beside it.
And, the thin, crisp typewriter paper rolled around the carriage roller now covered with dabs of white correction fluid.
Stereotypical balls of discarded attempts pepper the floor around the trash can in the corner. (Some strange law of the universe keeps these balls of symbolic frustration from ever actually entering the can, no matter how accurate the throw.)
“Let’s start a fresh sheet.”
The clock in the living room dings once, marking 1 am.
My father sighs and rubs his tired, red eyes.
I’ll never get this stupid book report done.
©2023
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Archival pigment printed on museum quality MOAB Entrada Rag 300.
100% cotton paper.
Matte Surface
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All paper prints are covered with acid free, neutral pH glassine paper.
Include signature and title on front.
Prints are carefully covered, rolled and placed in the shipping tube.
Does not include frame or matte. -
Orders are sent within 3-5 business days and should arrive within 1-4 days in the US.
All domestic orders are insured and trackable.
International orders are insured and optionally trackable.
No returns as all prints are custom made.
An email containing tracking information will be sent once the order ships.
