Draft by Justin Hall

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,

And wait…

But no water flows.

I go back the way I came

And sit in my desk staring at a blank paper,

Inspirationally dry.