I lost my voice
when I forgot
the secret of the craft.
What secret, love, is that?
The written word
not born of mouth,
no mother, none at all,
not even you
Not I?
It’s true,
Yet, can’t escape the draw;
composing with my maw—
So choking on the weight
of all that I have written;
hands are bound behind me
with all that I’ve forgot—
Oh, words that I’ve forgot!
*(It’s only writer’s block.)