A slick line rested on each line carefully
Ever so delicately I stretch my limits
handsfree like telepathy
A prognosticator
See myself a couple steps ahead
Though I'm still holdin this pen
Open to whatever seeps through me
Open my mouth and leave nothing but quotes
Whether this ink dries
none of this was spoke
A spake in the page
my anger and rage speed up my process
sloppily letters tumble
My next thought keeps me goin
Ideas seem to be cleared without me knowing
Closed Circuit mind
Carefully watched by surveillance
Though my eyes stay closed
slowed down with the pen
. . . end of my process
