A Chip Off The Old Writer's Block...

Strikes relentlessly thrashing
(from all points
encompassing me) assigned
unforgivingly, vehemently,

witheringly, blind
ding figurative sight, then
I finally craft a title,
then subsequent lines

of poem (or prose) defined
incumbent to pay
proper obeisance deigned
then once a thread bare

theme more or less defined
unleashing skein of thoughts,
(that barrel thru
muss hike key)

utterly entangled,
enthralled and entwined
rather then panic, a series
of deep breaths

decompresses,
deemphasizes, and diminishes
a near futile attempt (thwarting captivity,
futility, and impossibility) to find

even just a faint coalescence,
essence, and furtherance
pitting ma small nose
to the metaphorical grind

stone calmly try
to temper onslaught
of tsunami like brain storm,
yet no matter

how fast fingers type,
a sinking sensation,
sans pursuit to process
this tidal wave sets me

further be hind,
this faux
cat and mouse game,
which forces bust

ting thru out this scribe
demand to answer himself
with minor expletive,
viz cheeses crust

why the ƒ¨ç˚ must
this doggone eventual dust,
when staking claim
on literary fame and fortune

will no doubt entrust
yours truly to pauper's grave
(if lucky enough
to garner gofundme monies

or not bother, and consign
any viable anatomical
parts of this
well kept body fussed

over with copacetic delight,
holistic insight, and magic night,
where a strong gust
of wind doth suffuse dreamy state

permeating mine subconscious,
where inexplicable
exemplifications doth leap
and prance, while aye

obliviously repose in deep sleep,
which may be the condition
of an unsuspecting reader,
whether an generic
guy or...a Veep.