If “just writ(ing) down what comes”
Is the cure for writer’s block;
I must relapse every other day.
The flow has yet to strike,
I hear of a non-discript ‘zone ‘
But, much like science fiction,
It has no address or code.
Thus, empty white electrons
Whose shine demands space,
Give me vertigo
by the hollow black vomit
That slides into a thought
Or a memory.