I can’t think.
I sit my desk staring at a blank paper,
Shaking my head and
Hoping creativity will fall out.
I envision the creation and
Try to drag it out by the feet,
But it fights back.
I excuse myself, praying that a walk
Through hallways of must will
Trigger some violent brainstorm,
But it’s not in the forecast.
I lean down to the fountain, stained with rust,
But no water flows.
I go back the way I came
And sit in my desk staring at a blank paper,