Thirteen Ways of Looking at Writer's Block

I
Among twenty episodes of American Idol,
The only moving thing
Was my thumb on the remote.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a popular Internet browser
In which three tabs are open to celebrity gossip.

III
The wine key twirled in the pliant cork.
It was a small part of the evening.

IV
A woman and a keyboard
Are one.
A woman and a keyboard and a wine key
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The spiciness of Mexican
Or the savory of Thai,
The order-placing
Or just after.

VI
Cigarettes filled the long ashtray
With barbaric ashes.
The shadow of my wine glass
Crossed it, up and down.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An unbelievably trippy aspect.

VII
O fat men of Brooklyn,
Why do you imagine olden times?
Do you not see how the hipsters
Walk around the blocks
Of the neighborhood you live in?

VIII
I know noble shops
And affordable, discounted clothing;
But I know, too,
That the sale rack at Scoop is full
Of what I need.

IX
When the waiter flew out of sight,
He marked my iced coffee
On one of many order tabs.

X
At the sight of my Sudoku puzzle
Full of purple numbers,
Even the editor of the Times' Sunday Crossword
Would cry out sharply.

XI
She rode over the Williamsburg Bridge
In a metal carriage.
Once, a fear pierced her,
In that she mistook
The direction of her train
For Queens.

XII
The TV is flickering.
The writer must be napping.

XIII
It was sunny all afternoon.
It was sunny
And it was going to be sunny.
The writer sat
In her back-yard.


*Inspired, of course, by Wallace Stevens's "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird". Read it, please. Let me add another thank you to this world: Mr. Stevens, thank you for a beautiful poem.