I only thought I was blocked. Turns out
I’ve been writing all along, or rather
my subconscious has been scribbling furiously
rumination after rumination, leaving me
the task of picking through the rubble
of the crash, call it a two-tower crash,
for any signs of life, and then
leaving me the task of revival
out of that sifted rubble, turns out,
good rubble, which leads me to wonder:
what kind of good rubble can I get into?

Out of the rubble
and into my life I go.
Merrily, merrily, I go.

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