Anhydrocephaly

That grinding, scraping sound you hear
Is coming from my inner ear.
Whenever I hear that alarm
It means my inspiration farm
Is in extremis, and the drought
Of clever things to write about
Has found a long term place to live.
I much prefer my brain a sieve
‘Cause then, at least, ideas flow!
In dry times, though, no poems grow.

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About Michael

Silliness is good
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