Blocked
writing eludes me
like a shadow cat
hiding under the bed
of my unkempt psyche
I am the perpetual tom
and my greatest desire lurks
a breadth of a hair out of reach
I cannot write
I rot on the carcass of my dreams
putting out the burning end of my ambitions
against the thick concrete of a writer’s block
I cannot write
I play the part of ms-goody-two-employee-shoes
writing business proposals for muses
sending out memos to anyone who will listen
that I cannot write
and the things unsaid
shape into a woman
at the crucial point
of an earth shattering
soul curling; cosmic
motherfucking orgasm
but not reaching there quite
I cannot write
so I swirl in circles
and ache in places
known unknown
the tendrils of my soul
reach out for a rhyme
and hold on for dear life
for a fertile thought
for a birth…
but I cannot write.