Process

Random thoughts

Random words

Random little gems or turds

Creeping in

Tumbling out

Pouring sure and lacking doubt

Take them down

Set them free

The poem is what it’s meant to be

Frenzied now

Fevered pace

Filling in the dead white space

Cannot stop

Wouldn’t try

Emotions bleeding; let them fly

Slowing now

The final drop

Is coming soon; I’ll have to stop

Finally out

Finally done

The page is full, the words have won


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