Glen Martin Fitch
Yes, beauty's great,
before some vista vast,
I sense the need to pee.
I fear I'll fall
when truth makes sense to me.
If image matches meaning,
metaphor is born.
Grand art can me me high,
although my stomach sinks.
'Damn, how can I compete? '
The Muse can shout so,
I forget to eat.
A simile can sting inside.
I know a poem is close
when zombie eyed at night
and panther pace by day
aglow with sweat.
I want to pen down
and yet I'd rather
mop the floors again
It's not when planets line up
I'm most productive
when I'm tired and bored.
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