When all the words desert my brain, I go in search of someone else’s leavings

Maybe it’s the annual stretch of life-sucking heat and humidity, or maybe I’ve run out of things to write about after writing about things for nearly six decades. Do you ever feel this way? Do you understand why I want to give up this writing nonsense and spend my life eating dump cake and watching Murder, She Wrote?

I was within sight of that scenario when I ran across an erasure poem that I started during a previous bleh funk. A few years ago I used erasure poems to drag myself out of a dry spe...