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Monday, May 5, 2008


This is just a very very rough idea, that I might try to make into a more serious poem or a rhyming something or other.

My mind turns as the
tapping of my ballpoint pen
echos through my bones.

Words, just out of reach,
buzz around my head
like invisible mosquitos,
impossible to pin down.

Lined paper glares back at me
from my crowded desk,
it smells my fear and shouts
The paper knows I'm unwilling
to dip my toes into the frigid
realms of thought.

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