Traffic out of the Amazon (Writer’s Block/Angst From Inability to Write a River)

Ideas and thoughts are jammed in my head,

silver angelfish jostling for the remains of water in a funnel,

slowly trickling onto paper.

I want the fish but only orphan scales make it to paper

Without water, fish may gasp and twitch, jammed together

And I hope they do not suffocate,

but more time is necessary to make my poems rivers

housed in the tropics. I need a saw to cut the tube

of the funnel, cut the precision

so my fish can jump to open water.

Race and gender issues drown us with too little oxygen

in open air. We would all swim better in schools

of listening, compassion on our dorsal fins.

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