some days you
got nothing.
nada. not a clue, not
an imaginative thought,
or word to
write.
you're numb and cold.
brooding.
the bird on the sill
shakes his
head. he's
wrapped in an overcoat,
and a lumber jack plaid
hat.
a frozen worm
dangles from
his shivering beak.
we look at one another,
then shrug and move
on with our day.
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