Just in case anyone needs a reminder why I don't write much poetry, I offer the following muck perched brashly atop a moldering pile of steaming effluvium:
6 a.m. Ivories Tinkle
Just a-ramblin’ and a-scramblin’, duckin’ and divin’,
over here, just a keystroke or two, don’t matter
where when or who, gettin’ a little workout
while my mind comes up to speed.
T-h-e-q-u-i-c-ki-b-r-i-w-, damn, made two mistakes!
That’s okay, we’re just doing a quick spin
around the block with our two-minute test drive.
Can't slow down now.
Mind’s a-swirlin’ now, so many subjects, just can’t keep up,
Pop-tarts and Darwin share the same space,
quick pit stop for a sip of Joe, find your home keys, dummy,
or you’ll end up with whatever happens one key over.
Shit! Sometimes I wish I hadn’t learned to type by touch,
somehow it seems like cheating.
That’s it, better now… intelligent choices, proper phrasing—
clear the hurdles, that’s right, now you’ve got it…
time to stop so the other guy can enter—
the guy who wants it right, the guy who has to make it work.
So long until tomorrow.
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1 comment:
Perfect. Written as only a true writer can - from the experience.
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