A blank book, stares back at me,
An unwritten verse, of poetry,
My future novel, full of events,
Leather bound story, missing contents,

A clear mind, dogged by history,
Halting the flow, unfinished mystery,
Weeks of regress, a total non-starter,
A comedy of errors, missing the laughter,

Passion reduced, barely a simmer,
A future best seller, lacking it's winner.

“hello poetry”* i said
and you reply “hi, my friend.
got anything in your head?”
and i almost laugh of dread,
because there's nothing left
but a brain that's almost dead.

“just type it up, my friend.
whatever you bled”
you said with a breath.

then, here i am
for a minute or two,
created another without a clue
but if you just knew,
i don't know how to end this little blue..