Letters flash in front of my eyes,
scrambled—
like a dyslexic
marquee,
advertising a show
that no one wants to
see.

Thoughts on the bottom of a lake
where patiently I cast my
line,
hoping for a bite,
but nothing feels like
mine.

Words doing the backstroke,
swimming through a
sea
riddled with confusion,
never reaching
me.

Hands poised on the keyboard,
awaiting further
instruction,
not knowing that my
writer’s block will lead
to my eventual
destruction.