Creative Block

It is usually the 'writer's block' that they complain about, running out of impetus, not being able to perform. But there is a lesser known affliction, I think, where one can get stuck producing the same old thing and nothing else.
I almost wish I'd never come across the 'fuzzy rhyme' idea because one immediately wants to do it but the results suffer from the law of diminishing returns and then one finds one can't do anything else. O, how I'd love to produce some blank verse that meant something, anything.
There is a sestina on the way, one of those things that writes itself once the pieces are put in place, so please do tune in for that later. But, that poem notwithstanding, I am beginning to realize the importance of meaning beyond all this considered formality.

Snake

Secretly it slithers into nooks,
the glitter of its imprinted skin
a leitmotif of exotic inks
tangled up like an old, slack noose.

Is it something creation has forsaken
that lives without the need for please or thanks
and whatever it is that it thinks
is something that you know no-one can ask.