Click Click Click

A man sits at a desk with a pen in hand tapping it against the desk, click click click. 

A man sits at a desk with eyes shining bright with days of unrest and no sleep. 

A man sits at a desk filled with cans and empty containers. 

A man sits at a desk but yet he floats above himself afraid to see himself, to delve into his pool that fills the void in his shell.

A man sits at a desk with a pen in hand tapping it against the desk, click click click.

A man stands up after hours of floating in space.

A man drove to the end by the poison and thoughts clawing at his skull.

A man sits down on his bed, click click click.

The room is silent, the note is blank.

Reviews

[Robert Tusitala O'Neill]

I know it's presumptuous to say, but this feels unfinished. Several ideas are started but remain hovering in the air like the man's astral body, unwilling to fully inhabit his physical existence. Show us what makes him so pensive. Hint at it! Make the reader fill in some, but not as much as inventing more lines for your poem in your head.

I LIKE the rhythm of it and the repetition of the image of a man sitting at his desk, drumming his pen...