me brain be mush

Every day’s the same
Pray to write it down
But of late my words won’t play
Afraid I’ve lost the game

The love-induced infection of loquaciousness in my blogs has turned into a jittery tight-lipped fever, a whirlwind delirium I cannot control. A hamster wheel of frantic, pointless activity. Writers Block, my friends. Writers, for the block. Procrastination steals, passes to Obstinate Denial, he shoots, HE SCORES! DMM loses the game. And the crowd goes wild away.

Who will read the words I do not write?

What becomes of a poem that never existed?

. . .A vacant epithet to emptiness, stone pillars left uncarved, standing testament to nothing. Milky rains bleach expressionless cemetery. Tremoring oaths painted in sun shadows shimmer, the naked hill, chapel bells ringing.
. . .Beneath the behemoth saintly tower, rabbits chasing rabbits round the churchstone steps, run retreating into primal dens of dirt that quiver tremulously with each dull diatonic decibel.

. . .Hollow chimes resound deep within the earth, a cross emblazoned high across the sky, each tiny beast huddled in the crumbling mire, stealing away heaping helpings of nothing but fright, in the darknesses below.