What I meant to say was...

To clarify what I said yesterday about not being inspired to write... this is not exactly accurate. It's more along the lines of the words I've written below. Maybe those out there who've had writers' block will recognize this oddly agitating feeling...

I have this freakish sense
that
I should be writing
am inspired to absorb
but the words come out
like scribbles: empty

how much poetry must
a person inhale
before her pores will bleed it back
for the world to swallow
before her senses
invert the experience
gush and froth
the words like water
breaking a dam
of silenced apathy?