On Writer’s Block

Shallow waters splashed the shore and brought with them the remarks of yesteryears.  This is the staying line, a doubtful creator of nere-do-wells.  He does not grip tight the summer heat and braces himself against leaping dreams.  Nothing falters with such force as a breaking horse.  She splits her yonder across, tempers fate like a molded grape popping in its jeans.

Under braking spaces, he gleams whispers as though heralded wings.  Fortune favors borrowed hearts or so the hearing does not a fealty make.  We green wonders hope for venturing vendors with brazen bracken bushwhacking hacks of perilous prats.  Eat your gooey, truest, bluey, foolish simper of a seamstress mate.  Take the stars to Moonie heights and use the jester coats in ports of pardon.

Pickle spender wait.  You ewe of marker upper happiest winter speaks.  Increments to poop on are the flavor of the spat.  Yes, I do declare, this groggy tip tills gravely serious war.

Egad.  Or bladder spanked cad.  This is not my wallowing gibbon.

Packed, proofed, profound, and perished, she thinks the apple of yard.  Hinder spent never a dime or dozed dapper trough.  Exact perhaps or fodder spackled cellar drinkers of kinder or kindled or kettle clothed woes. Larder does spread so finely on a sandy blanket fort.

Help, else drape trying pains in earnest vapor varnished homes.

– Somedays all you can do is cut off your head and think with your knees.

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