I think the ugly writers block finally slid out of my way. The attempt for now to leap into the foray. Words battling for their place in line, Ideas lying to get out of my mind. Poetic license shall set me free, and help empty my aching head of excess inventory. Not being responsible for what flows out of the bursting dam holding everything in, nothing is not fair game. Such a bold start and the flames already burn low. Maybe bursting, indeed was too large a word; used early in this rhetorical theme, and while the dull ache my head still holds, eases as the minutes go by. That block in my head still ain’t gone away, so from that fiery start, I’m just going to bed anyway.