Lately
when I try to write
Nothing comes of it
Just raspy thought-schisms
That fail to take hold
They fizzle and pop
And disappear
in a wisp of blue smoke
Leaving me
With faint and fading echoes
in the empty chambers of my brain
Mornings used to be a fruitful period
Now they’re as dry as the Sahara
Coffee used to be a thought lubricant
Now it’s just gasoline
for a stuck and revving engine
There’s a constant buzzing
a negative counterbalance
A marshalling of malevolence
blocking words and spilling ink
I’m waiting for a clearing
A splash of light
On an open field of possibility
bendingtheneedle 