Writer's Block MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

   There crawls An inchWorm Across my Page.

Sometimes he curls into a little ball;

and sometimes he just sits and thinks.

Sometimes he spends hours, just inching his way

through so many thoughts and images,

yet complexity makes him tire;

and when he is weary, I take this warm little segment of

brain in my hand...

and place him sleeping in my pocket.

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