The block on my desk, gargantuan piece of
Imaginary marble, streaked through with veins
Of imperial purple to show the unwary
Just how important! how crucial! such a lack
Of ideas can be to a quarry artist, to a master builder,
To a poet with a tiny little bit of vacations time
On her hands and absolutely no topics
For potential discussion. Such is the way of the rhinocerous-
Skinned writer. Cut yourself. Write truth in blood.
Aw! Blockage, stinks.
But I’m here to help; write about quokkas.
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