words flow out of me like the punches of about boxer; each word like a natural series of punches flowing out of a trained boxer.

But of late, I feel more like an old boxer, who has fallen out of step. What once came in a fury takes a force of will to summon out a few words from me. Maybe the well has run dry, but I wouldn't be a poet if I don't keep coming to the Source to once again let the words flow like a fury of creation being unleashed.