Writer’s block

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Alas! This poem is drowned and dead;
drifting with the current,
it rolls with the swell,
entangled in vain rhetoric,
clinging to it like seagrass and kelp,
up to where the undulating waters break,
washing it slowly towards the land;
a corpse deceased and silent,
it touches the wet, grey beach –
there to decompose,
solitary and unuttered
and deserted by the muse.

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