ratcatcher...

i find i cannot capture the ideas as they scatter like rats into the shadows, burrowing themselves deeply into the bricks of my block, mocking me with squeaks as each tick of my clock shatters my face into impatience. i find i cannot find my way as i chase them into the darkness, tripping clumsily over the entrails of castrated adverbs, their penises 'ly'ing like headless snakes beneath my feet. i fall grace first into a pile of haphazardly unpacked adjectives, now a rumpled mountain of descriptions bleached blank of their color by the contents of a bottle of lie spilled onto it during yet another turbulent flight of fancy.

i lay upon a debris field of decapitated stories and mutilated epics, my fingers scrapped raw as they crawl in cramps across the familiar forms of those lifeless figures littering the terrain of my keyboard.

i can hear them...

muted sounds of furtive movement within the brick of my block lets me know that with each tick of my clock i am closer to having those sentences within my grasp again. i sit where i stand, landing in their excrement, remnants of empty musings pushed through their periods to land in a waste of effort now squashed beneath my ass.

i am waiting in this infinite dark, my other sense so heightened i no longer need to be in the light to write.

come out, come out...

i know where you are...