Perhaps a wave will
wash over me
and force me out
of this perfect little hole I've built
in the hill.

Perhaps the words will
spill out like milk;
and glug glug they will sound,
in perfect tempo with
the beat of my chripping heart.

Perhaps the drip drops of some rain
could unleash the inky thoughts,
so that I may sit with my
head hung low
and write.

e.campagna