Is it fatigue,
am I just too sleepy,
or is it the end
of a great run
of creativity?
Perhaps, am I just lazy.

It seemed that daily
I could breeze.
Writing came
with such an ease
that a sneeze
could bring me
poetry;

But now it seems
I need
extreme dosing
of caffeine
and something
different
then what I’ve seen.

Yesterday,
a leaf leaving
winter bear limbs
could send in
ten thousand
words.

Now the words
are sluggish turds
that won’t get out.
What is this ****
all about?

Brown and stinking
sinking while
I am thinking
that all my ideas
our thinning
and repeating.

Years ago,
I used to know
who I was
and who I wanted to be,

but lately
I am less swimming
than barely floating,
grasping for any lines
worth noting
but choking
before the verses
coming out.

Maybe this is
just creator’s doubt,
I’ve seen similar
cycles before,
but how can I achieve
greater leaps
in creativity
when my creativity
seems to have left me?