.on bouts with writer’s block.

the sky exhibits her empyreal drape
and the leaves have begun to decrease
in no certain pitch.

a thousand tastes brought in the wind
of inspiration, yet, a single tongue; distraction and revelation, together.

i listen to the art, listen to the artist,
their muses intact. present. me?
my vision is of the everyday.

every day.

will my muse be roused from her slumber?

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2 thoughts on “.on bouts with writer’s block.

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