A poem about the creative process.
a large room
no, i mean really
truly large
with a typewriter
in the center
of a card-table
in the center
and a chair
tucked under one side
the words
“free yourself”
already typed
and underlined
in the center
of the page
near the top
no blinking cursor
no glow-white field
just an iron sight
holding the paper down
that one might
torture or nurture
or rape or seduce it
with both
precision and accuracy
displacing oneself
from the space of the room
enough to replace it
in the length of a page
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