Everybody needs a hobby
It’s remarkable how you can lay in bed
And dangle on thoughts
As the brain uncoils
The great words come
Thru the breach
Of deprograming in the idle hours
It’s the wonderful time
Articulations of a mind that isn’t trying to say
Anything
So you hop up, grabbing pen and paper
Attempting to cast your gut in language
And there is nothing
Dire scribbles on an aggravated night
The piece won’t break out (the fucker)
Just rusty gears cranking and a pile of wadded papers
More crumpled pages
To tell the story of your life
No matter what you do: smoke, pull the cat’s tail, rub your nipples
It’s all a fat bust
Thought constipation
Another brutal round of pulling words to death
And swatting at gnats
And mindless television
Then your ear begins to itch
The commercial telling you to spend 30% less for 20% more
Makes the itch deep and unbearable
So you jab pen in earhole
And go to work
Scratching like hell
At the emergency room
You stick out
Amidst the witching hour weirdos:
Night victims
Drug freak outs, drunks, wolfmen
Everyone staring
At the pen sticking out of your head
Your insurance sucks, the receptionist is all paperwork and no soul
The doctor gives you shit for smoking
And asks how you came to have a pen
Stuck in your head
You tell him, “writer’s block”
He goes into a half-hearted spiel about his son
Who is a writer
And graduated Summa Cum Laude
Travels the world, wins prizes, publishes, flourishes
With a fast car and a leggy blonde nibbling his
Fancy leather belt
You tell the doc that you’re not really a “writer” writer
Just some guy with a pen stuck in his head
He tells you, “everybody needs a hobby”
As he removes the pen
Then he wishes you luck with the writer’s block
You look at the pen, you see the blood
You think of the thousands of crumpled pages
And the crumpled lovers, friendships, evenings, brain folds, blankets, nerve endings, conversations, choices, opportunities it took to bring you to this moment
And you tell him that writer’s block is the least of your problems