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writing done in the dark

that you can barely decipher in daylight.

lines crawling diagonally up the page

and colliding with each other

as if blindfolded and spun by the shoulders.

 

squashed and crooked letters,

unfinished thoughts

snaking out of control

pell mell and gung ho

as dodgems at the fair.

 

words escaping the edges of the paper

rivulets of spilled ink

or runaway trains in old

grey TV westerns.

 

ideas that crowd your head

and will not be denied:

clamouring like vendors at the rialto

robustly proclaiming their wares:

make it mine, make it mine,

make it mine.

 

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