A Writer With Nothing To Say

Staring at a blank screen
I find it offensive
Forcing unresponsive words
Gives me a migraine
I must be out of favor with the Muses

My talent for coherence
Seems to have abandoned me
Gone to greener pastures
Left no forwarding address
Probably just as well

Practicality got a stranglehold
Choked the flow poetry
Distractions chew on the corners of my brain
Scattering my wits in their wake
I wonder if I will ever make the pen my sword again