I spit at the common cold that takes away my ability to write… br No. br br A Giant boulder on the train tracks, immovable, upon impact, wreckage… br No… br br A common disease that afflicts even the greatest of writers… br No no no. br br An Olympic smoker’s throat in the early morning, br Congested with phlegm and spit and beetle dung, br From yesterday’s incestuous attempt to unclog his writing, br Yet nothing seems to clear, not a nostril, not a page, not a lung. br br NOOOOOO! ! ! ! br br If only this was as simple as br flushing out the pipes, br walking the dog, br flogging the dolphin, br spanking the monkey, br shaking hands with major, br sending in the commando, br cranking the slot machine, “JACKPOT JACKPOT JACKPOT” br br No no no no no…. br br It’s been over a month, my creative juices have seem to run out on me… br br GOD NO! br br Denied, for the nth time…. br Tomorrow, again.