Writers tea

Losing it,
in luxurious clouds.
Wishing on all that,
doubts, long ago.

People go of,
left, right, above.
Centrefield vision,
stuck on a moa.

Just a pen,
collected sounds.
Nothing more fancy,
nothing to awe.

Breaking blocked phrases,
exhibit to connect.
Cuts to show up for,
cuts of a row.

More drowning to sit with,
thoughts lost in the maze.
Lost sight of the endings,
brighter thoughts to a go.