escribblings

or "The Curse of Thinking Hard Too Much"

do something right
the poet needs to
Do something! Write!
the poet hums to

a molasses tune
feels the rain drip down
through deciduous June.
ink well fills for dip of a quill

the plume quivers
stills
spills
an opal opioid ink

no one nose enough to sniff up
this unthinkable stink