Writers Block
Waiting
For the ready
pains of labor
For the juicy
ripening of that peach
Poking and prodding
At vacancy
It won't be forced
Knocking on the cold
Door of a hollow house
Staring in at
Still and silence
There is no pulling
the sun up in the night
Clocks tick and time
Is not our own
Hearts breath
Words to poetry
Maybe another day
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