A Chip Off The Old Writer's Block...

Strikes relentlessly thrashing
    (from all points
     encompassing me) assigned
unforgivingly, vehemently,
     witheringly, blind
ding figurative sight, then
    I finally craft a title,
then subsequent lines

     of poem (or prose) defined
incumbent to pay
     proper obeisance deigned
then once a thread bare
     theme more or less defined
unleashing skein of thoughts,
     (that barrel thru
     muss hike key)

     utterly entangled,
     enthralled and entwined
rather then panic, a series
     of deep breaths
     decompresses,
     deemphasizes, and diminishes
a near futile attempt (thwarting captivity,
     futility, and impossibility) to find

even just a faint coalescence,
     essence, and furtherance
     pitting ma small nose
     to the metaphorical grind
stone calmly try
     to temper onslaught
     of tsunami like brain storm,
     yet no matter

     how fast fingers type,
     a sinking sensation,
     sans pursuit to process
     this tidal wave sets me
     further be hind,
this faux
cat and mouse game,
     which forces bust

ting thru out this scribe
     demand to answer himself
     with minor expletive,
     viz cheeses crust
why the ƒ¨ç˚ must
     this doggone eventual dust,
when staking claim
     on literary fame and fortune

     will no doubt entrust
yours truly to pauper's grave
     (if lucky enough
     to garner gofundme monies
or not bother, and consign
     any viable anatomical
     parts of this
     well kept body fussed

over with copacetic delight,
     holistic insight, and magic night,
     where a strong gust
of wind doth suffuse dreamy state
permeating mine subconscious,
     where inexplicable

     exemplifications doth leap
and prance, while aye
      obliviously repose in deep sleep,
which may be the condition
     of an unsuspecting reader,
     whether an generic
     guy or...a Veep.