Writer's Block

This just may be the worst poem ever written,
I’m spittin’ out rhymes on the fly like a sandpiper,
Without symmetry the lines are split or won’t fit in,
it feels like I'm about to be taken out by a sniper.
No sooner then I down this whole schooner,
With liquid courage I’ll be bringing in the sheave,
Roll up my sleeve and heave then like a pruner,
I’ll cut the Spartan phalanx by taken up my leave.
Writer’s block is mock of the things I’ve talked,
It’s a segregation between mind and inspiration,
Like an idiot savant I want everything I’ve gawked,
Like a seamstress waiting and waiting in frustration.
For now I’ll cook up some designs in my sketchbook,
Doodling drawings while eating cookies and milk,
Until the impulse takes me and has me on the hook,
Then a prime line of rhymes will flow like fine silk.