Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Writer's Block

15 October 2008, 7:47 AM

I can feel the banks rising
against this block, brick by brick
damming the mind-flow. Soon
the pond will spill over, or my pen
will explode. Thoughts
become concentrated, like estrogen
in my blood. There is no escape
from the contents of my veins, no running
from the alphabetic pool as my cotton shirt
billows out in watery folds; my jeans
bloat, heavy with drink.

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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