I've been to Writer's Block.
It's not the greatest neighborhood to find yourself lost.
Although I did find myself in interesting company.

I saw Edgar on the cornor of Lost and Hope.
Drinking from a paper bag.
As if the Raven lived at the bottom.

A crooked smile snuck across my lips as I turned unto the next street.
There I saw Bill Shakespeare painting over his own graphiti.
Mumbling to himself something like "thou art not worthy"

At a crosswalk, where the sidewalk ended,
I noticed Sliverstein, smoking a joint with Frost.
He called me over asking if I wanted to join them.

To which I replied
"No, I have to keep my mind clear.
Can't you tell, I'm trying to write a poem here."

To which Bobby said "shit, arn't we all."
took another drag and held it in. Breathed out.
"If only any of us knew where to begin."

"Amen" I noded, and kept walking.