Oh no, I cannot even bluster up
the words for what I need to
lay out my pomes!
I am rattled!
I am concerned!
Did I take on too many?
Am I as a dry river bed
complete with cracks, parched
skeletons left behind under
blistering heatwave.
My drought of ideas jumps
onto my body, stamping me
into that sand till
I am up to my neck.
Oh no, are those granules
about to pour into
my screaming, terrified
mouth? Dry stone clogging
dehydrated larynx until my
speech is as strangled
as my writing.