Blocked and loaded


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