This piece resulted from my fight fire with fire approach to writer’s block by writing about the feeling ion not being able to write anything. This wrong foots the block in an infinite logic loop and lets the words flow.

The Catch

A fisherman waits all day at sea.
Despite the bait, nothing bites;
his plate remains empty.
He can choose whether to blame
the season, or the line,
or just the weather.

All day, I trawl through my mind
and find nothing.
I reel in empty lines,
dripping with blame,
and my name is within
each and every drop.

No words in my head;
no words on the page.
Instead, in silent rage,
I claw to find words
from the empty air above.

Twilight through the skylight;
my focus escapes the glass.
Swifts and swallows slice Heaven’s sea
like tailors scissors.

Time flies, moments pass.
I sit, mouth agape,
catching flies on the wing;
a single idea flies within.
Swallow swift.
Digest.
Begin.