Writer's Block

2/18/2019
a poet/writer is never blocked. he simply
chooses not to write about the thoughts
in his head. he won't let the pen
marry paper to birth something truly
original. no, he waits for action, energy to
catapult entropy into the air; a circus
in a tornado, yet unafraid (some, anyway).
this & that flying, soaring. and the poet
writes and he writes, he furiously
writes, frantically trying to capture each
thrown chair, or barking dog, or the
near-dead fish whose tank broke in all
the tumult. the trumpets sounding, the
fire burning. the smoke billowing from
a half-smoked cigarette next to a
half-drank bottle of whiskey. yes this
you could write about. but what happens
when the chaos stops, the cleaning ladies
come, the trash men take the trash, and
the pieces of the house are put back
together? what, then, does the poet
write about? he writes about the only
thing he ever owned, his dreams.