I am not a square
But I live in a cube
It’s called writer’s block
And the rent is very high
And the landlord very mean.
The ceiling leaks sometimes

Drops of fractured
Sentences and gushes
Of misbegotten
Nouns and homeless
Verbs and occasionally
Delusional commas.

The floor creaks
And tells poor jokes
Instead of-a thesis.

So writing here
It’s looked down
On, the neighbors
Are real snobs

Doth thou really
Think thou art
Shakespeare?


But there’s charm
Down on ole’
Writer’s Block
We’re all
Just delusional
Commas and misbegotten
Nouns our monies
Are tied up in
Untying those clusters
Far off in
Our imaginations

Maybe someday
I’ll move up
To the corner
Of Inspired
And Prolific where
The rent is low
And landlord’s a doll.
And the ceiling
Is patched up like
Well-done poems

But for now
I fester
And I crackle
Down in ole’
Writer’s Block.