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
My 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
To block the words and spill the ink
I’m waiting for a clearing
A splash of light
On an open field
Of possibility
bendingtheneedle 