You've been blocked.

By a man with a Quill, taunting you and poking it at your face.
Writer's block disguised in busy busy busssssssy.

So, out comes the past again, for now.

I Think this reads less flowery if read as the Beastie Boys song "3 minute rule". Figure that one out.
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“Vines” (March, 2003)

Wrote it down someplace in dream,
my jaunt ascending from the trench,
every day an old warrior prays
me not
to ever flinch,
when you came riding up beside me
paving way with sound grins
tearing lessons out of noise,
my trance home supping lemon gins.

You and me veered down diving
upon those deepest glens,
water filling up our ears baptizing us
at the bend;
bass lines they bought a groove and
took her home to bed,
rabbits strewn out of their hides,
the sun baked petals in the bread.

We went shaking down the trees so their
blossoms
then would lend,
fall back bleeding from their nest,
we might rise up on the mend;
bursting breath and smelling skin
to cruise course winds that we can feed,
at all an ungodly hour,
our roots set fire to new breed.

I’ll take you bareback through the garden
honey,
gazing you in my best-
Be my vine, palms open wide, sailing waters
pounding on your chest;
Reflections past your eyes drowned my feet
burning down in gold
every fearful, indignatious,
cowering
lie I ever told.

Never held a wider path than this
one
as it seems;
The day’s walk is just too narrow,
I can’t see beneath the trees,
but we’ll spend our nights projecting
tidal stars through current waves;
Let’s ride shotgun with the vines
undoing footsteps as we pave;

Soaring over pyramids that we dreamed,
drew and became,
it’s their passage alongside ours
that stands to make us brave.