Thinker's Block

Thu, 03/04/2021 - 22:51 -- woila

Whoopee, new material!!

(New poem, but old frustration... to anybody who can suggest

a cure for chronic empty brain syndrome, I'll revere you forever.)

This one is very short. Just a first attempt to get something out while the brain is trying not to cooperate.


I wake in stupor, half-past ten,

and carry still a sleepless dread.

What is missing, but my head?

I find it -- empty, yet again.


My buzzing stomach wants for breakfast,

only to quiet the yapping maw;

the parched brain croaks for satiation --

if just for knowledge in a straw.

And once the desperate thirst expelled

I hope to clutch, absorb, retain,

as in desert sand does water sink;

though here as oil is repelled, 

then vanished in a wink.


With each push, fatigue and fog resists

as a stubborn horse kicks when taken to drink,

and the last hollow drop is dried in boxed-up books and hardened ink;

all I want's a chance at being, before it's dissolved in a blink,

For the love of all that's in my heart:

I just want to bloody think.

This poem is about: 


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