Writer's Block Orison
Click-click calls the retractable pen as my thumb pushes and releases cycling on the thrust tube. How wasteful that inspiration should not take seed even as ballpoint tip slips in and out. There is no love shrouded among the ink chamber, so dear God, just let this pen fuck the page.
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seuratski
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round...
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