A small chip off the ole Block

Writer's Block is one hell of a sickness. When writing is your antidote to pain, your first meal of the day, your friend who knows you best, being unable to write is devastating. Deblilitating, even. Needless to say, the ole Block has been with me like a bad relationship, off and on, for a few years now.

I've been writing in fits and starts lately (even started a few posts that never went anywhere), but today I wrote and completed my first poem in two months. Funny, I was inspired to write this as I was studying for a test.

At any rate, this one is about one of my favorite pasttimes. I hope you enjoy the read as much as I enjoyed the write.

Cover to Cover

i was
wrapped in rainbows
for one hundred years of solitude
listening to krapp's last tape
and waiting
for a streetcar named desire
to take me to
the blackboard jungle
where things fall apart

and i learned that
a tree grows in brooklyn
where
the souls of black folk
are walking with the wind

i was
wounded in the house of a friend
tumbling
in a catch-22
with an invisible man
who had the bluest eye
and white teeth
he took me to
the learning tree
where we sat
and spoke of mice and men

he told me he knew
a black boy who
stole the heart of a woman
and then let her
drop
in the small rain
but she was only the prisoner's wife
and nothing more
than breath, eyes, memory
to us both.