Deep Within Throes of Writers Block Cerebral Cortex Feels Frozen To the Core

Deep within throes of writer's block cerebral cortex feels frozen to the core Haint no rhyme nor reason why writing a poem such an arduous chore twenty two days afore winter solstice twenty twenty more or less three weeks from tomorrow November thirtieth, I implore the god/goddess of poetry, perhaps found within Bangalore highlighted by the 'Green Door' guarded by the key don Eeyore also known as Al Gore him of Earth in the Balance fame who by George got ambushed unsure if he chad chance to claim victory tour when former candidate did score less electoral college votes nevertheless in my mind before thoroughgoing count did ignore discarded ballots scattered all across the floor which outcome incurred Iraq war insinuating weapons of mass destruction the gung ho forty third president forswore existed but quite a few respectable Republicans did abhor pinning such ambiguous lore upon head of recalcitrant Saddam Hussein bombed back to stone age think lavishing primitive home decor no imprecation heaped and hurled upon United States military, nor thug, who nobody did adore asking politely "por favor can I pretty please take detour to Galapagos Islands of Ecuador made famous courtesy Charles Darwin still popular best selling author at garden variety generic bookstore which borders on ridiculous for sure yet inane rhyme tore thru my noggin after writer's block yours truly did deplore he would spend countless hours in vain every burst of creativity I did explore found me smack dab against figurative cul de sac and bonjour to you too three score orbitz after me late papa did bore mama, she passed away fifteen years before.