I keep coming back.
In spite of myself at times
penning my rhymes in the night
right up until the early hours,
hopping in for a shower
and heading off to work.
Sometimes berserk; a jerk
of outrageous fortune,
torturing my muse to
respond with something new.
Evey day in April,
every day in November.
And every day in between,
I have developed a keen
poetic sense, relieving
tension, and not to mention
expressing, in a non-oppressive way.
You would think I’d have learned.

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