Tuesday, April 21, 2026
If I can’t, so be it…
Should I lose my vision?
And not being able to look back,
It’s just movement until touching…
And so, upon a hot surface, I scream,
Panic…while holding burnt fingertips and,
Shouting, “…help, please, I need ice.”
How would I write without fingers to type?
It won’t really matter without vision to try.
But there, I hear, to speak and to feel…
To listen for tones and sense this new poem.
-Budd
This Is Where BuddWrites 