I Find, Today, I Can Not Write

I find, today, I can not write
Yet at my desk I sit despite
The fact that I am wasting time
Composing non-existent rhyme.

Enticing me to poetry
Amorphous words swirl endlessly
While verse and meter without form
Are trapped in an inchoate storm.

I am bombarded with clichés
And now a viscous, verbal haze
Obscures my literary view
And renders me without a clue.

I would walk off in sheer despair
But something binds me to my chair
I think that if I sit and wait
This verbal hex might just abate.

In deepest thought I am immersed
Perhaps I need a subject first
And then a title might appear
The path to prose might then be clear.

How truly awful, Writer's Block
I rather wish I could not talk
Tomorrow may resolve my plight
I find, today, I can not write.