F. Michael LaRosa wrote this piece for MFA376. He tells us, it is a blues song in prose that laments his writer's block.

All them words what lived in me has up and died. All them characters what I depended on has flown the coop. All them lives I planned to tell is no more. Them plots and predicaments has vanished from my overwrought consciousness. All them tricky endings? Gone. All them heroes and villains? Out the door and lost in a bleak night of unspeakable darkness. My tall tales is shortened into nothing. Them distressed dames and damsels, them shining knights in armor riding steeds tall as mountains, them psychopathic wild man pimps and peepers, them conniving, big-wigged women of the evening, them bumbling, hard-nosed, stogie chewing, gumshoed shufflers with their peacemakers drawn and their good golden hearts in a thousand jagged pieces – missing in action. AWOL. All of ‘em. All my poetic parts is missing. I’m squeezed out as a juiced up orange. I’m gutted and rung out. My work-a-day brain is fried and will be frittered by wine by the time the mornin’ sun doth shine. So...sue me. There ain’t no poetry in me tonight.

Author Bio: F. Michael LaRosa writes fiction and poetry. His work has appeared over the years in a variety of print and online publications, including Underground Voices, The Battered Suitcase, The Legendary, Red Fez, and Yellow Mama.