Struggling up from the innernappingthe triumph of the eyesto close the dealwithout ever…
Perhaps a feather,or maybea single grain of sandto pocket and keepfor when this allinevitably…
The loud, pounding enginessound thumping
We drape one anotherin our little words,allowing ourselvesto be imbibed withinthe densest…
They call it block, a writer’s block Distorting flow, embedding thoughts It’s not just…