Writer's Blocked

It isn’t measured in units;
its cost or removal does not exchange with any currency;
there is no sum to its infinite angles;
it has all the weight and none,
matterlessly it matters;
it frustrates everything by doing nothing;
no map can be shaped or draped or drawn around its edges;
it comes and goes without ever passing,
like the worst parts of a kidney stone;
it blinds with blind intention,
a mute cacophony of monotonicity;
…capricious and fickle and unchanging…
wet nurse Cerberus to the stillborn;

it is the arsonist in the firehouse and the hole in the donut;
the significantly signified screaming silence overtaking all the sound and the fury;
the one way roundabout with closed exits on life’s highway;
it is the undug grave next to the church whose foundation’s first stone was
laid long after we killed and buried with our bare hands the last gods;
it is the optic disk in your vision test;
the vibration in your pocket when you know you forgot your phone;

the “out of order” sign that comes up after you used your last dollar for a Coke.

The only way
out  of nowhere
is through.