Shooting Blanks: A Writer's Waking Nightmare

Looking over my own shoulder
From above and behind-
A scene in a movie
When the man at the keyboard
Is swimming in circles,
Going nowhere
And not quickly at that.
Drawing blanks
And shooting what there is,
Suffering an acute
Episode
Of Writer's Block.

A small light
Bounces around and through
The folds and creases of the brain-
There's an idea hiding
Somewhere in there.
"Come out, come out,
Wherever you are!"
But the vagueness sustains
And nothing turns up.
Fearful that any attempt
To falsify the nothingness
Would amount to nothing more
Than shooting blanks,
The screen remains
Commensurately
Blank as well.

Time to take a walk
Or have a talk.
Watch the moon
Or play a tune..
Watch TV
Or get up to pee.
Writer's block,
As you can tell,
Leaves one feeling
Immeasurably
Less than swell.
When the mind has nothing
Surging outwards to tell:
The blank shots
Of Writer's Block.

But, wait a minute!
What have we here?
Between my ears,
There's more than air.
What I see
Now you see, too,
Is that this one blank shot
Of Writer's Block
For now
Is through.
From each struggle
There can be some learning
To endure the cycles
Of Writer's Block
Returning.
I give thanks
That every day
Is not filled
With blanks.