Chipping Away

“You should write a poem about writer’s block,” he said

With all that is going on and on and on in my head?

If I could empty out the old, breathe in the new

I wouldn’t be sitting right here, talking to you

I would be happily tapping away at the keys

In my fantastical, illogical, productive version of Heaven

Instead of changing the meter and method

Of a poem that has no direction

Strange rhyme without reason

what rhymes with reason, anyway?

Season. Season rhymes with reason

So does freezin’ — but that’s not even close

to the point.


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