Rhymes To Paper

I've got that bug
to write poetry
my arms I do lug
up with fingers to the keys

A short gaze over poems of old
some do continue to inspire
some simply smell of mold!

Hello blinking vertical line
that beckons me to type
'Move me over to the right,
and we'll write into the night! '

Filling white space
with squiggles of black
all at a subjectively fast pace
do I near completion of this word-stack

Of all the poems possible
I chose to write this one
The need is now satisfied
And now the poem is done.

(5/11/05)

by Sean Furlong

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