The Muse, the Knife and the Football

I love to write
When the words glide smoothly
Like butter off a hot knife,

I love to write
When ideas burst from my psyche
Like a river during a spring thaw,

I love to write
When my muse dictates so
Clearly my fingers can’t keep up,

I love to write
During the quiet hours when I alone am awake
With no one to interrupt my thoughts

But not today...

Today the stories dance around my head,
Mentally, I can see the characters, sense
Their narratives and even hear their dialogue,

But somehow, from point A to point B
Something is lost, 

No, writing today, is like using
A dull knife to cut a football.

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