Fear lurks in the shadows of my brain,
Just waiting to eat me alive again.
A poem percolates, simmers, and stews
All but devoid of today's news...
Like an ostrich tasting dusky desert sand,
The ideas feel so blocked, perhaps banned.
I want to write, but I know not what to write about;
Leaving me to throw incoherant tantrums
Where I jump up and down and incoherently shout...
As it all boils down, some juicy bits I hope to trim....
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