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the virgin page taunts me
untouched
the bright white
throbs like a migraine
no burden of remorse
no weight of mystery
does it bear
no sting of anger
no wink of mirth
does it proffer
nothing sensual or sensitive to share
no tale to spin
no plot to thicken
no coin of phrase to turn
just vast blank space
tormenting nothingness
cruel emptiness
to drain my brain
dissonance spills through my open window
the scatter of autumn showers
stir of october wind
rustle of moist leaves
in the distance
muffled keens
bursts of barking
far off yelps
the edgy piercing din
of dripping prowling night
intrudes in damp insistence
to fill my head
fevered with frustration
to leave not one small space for wit
the search for insight all for naught
no spark to light this dark
no muse in sight
nothing clever or profound
in the air this night
chilled
slack
uninspired
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rob kistner © 2011