I type to write to finish,
Fumble-fingers flashing furiously.
I never finish writing.
I like to count up the words and the
lines,
Write another one from the other side
To point out my poet's little lies,
Or just look at the stanzas from far
away,
Tracing their shapes.
They're like children, really.
They grow in ways that I don't notice
'til later.
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