When words lilt in their sagging,
Walking on the shoulder of a midsummer
Mind, winding down, winding down.
Parsed and parched their brittle
Out of season slouch,
My lips are pursed, tight
As a knot, why not.
Chapped chattering
Hurts.
Gerald the Writer
Poetry, essay, and prose, oh my!
Gerald the Writer 
Sometimes it isn’t till we have exhausted our putting out, that we finally are open to take in, absorb and let ourselves be refreshed.
quite true Jasper. thanks.