pen? check!
paper? check!
atmosphere for writing? check!
inspiration radiating outward? blocked like a sewer grate covered in leaves!
two hours i sit pen and paper at the ready, nothing.
i watch private planes takeoff and land, one did numerous touch and goes!
people run a marathon a few carry the flag in memorial to those fallen.
i know! a walk will get the old words flowing, heart pumping blood oxygen to the brain!
nope!
time to get a bite yeah that will fix what ails !
nope!
seems nothing is going to tip the scales so, for now, i will kept writing even if a mess!
soon a city worker will pass by and clean that grate then water will flow openly, freely!
but when?
The Conglomerate Lode 