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Writing As Fast As Time

Writing as fast as time

Gives precedence

To empty rhyme

See


Time is much thicker, singular, sad

Something not to be had

But to be


And every writer tries it

The stream, the

Screaming fit

Scream!


Gone already, as fruitless as

Catching your breath

It proceeds


What as formless as could be?

Or ‘free,’ we must grasp

As catching our breath

We gasp


But there back broke, flee

I never wrote

perfectly

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