When I write, my mind swims in a stimulant haze.
To stop makes a guest of an old, dread malaise
Which husbands my weakness and raises my fears,
(To which I've lost lovers and jobs -- why, whole years!)
So to deadlines and schedules and counts I aspire,
Which, when met, raise my spirits the higher,
But when my pen does not cut true
Those consequences double, too.
So instead I pledge to turn my art
To other matters than the heart,
In hopes that writing something more
Will stop my needing to keep score.
To stop makes a guest of an old, dread malaise
Which husbands my weakness and raises my fears,
(To which I've lost lovers and jobs -- why, whole years!)
So to deadlines and schedules and counts I aspire,
Which, when met, raise my spirits the higher,
But when my pen does not cut true
Those consequences double, too.
So instead I pledge to turn my art
To other matters than the heart,
In hopes that writing something more
Will stop my needing to keep score.
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