I have no paper to pen my poem
so no paper poem gets written
Instead with straightened back I sit
to tap
fingertips sore and bitten.
The mental pen on mental page
flourishes fast regardless
A lyrical ballad is silently spun
while my tips
tap dance so artless.
I cannot work in these conditions
my fingers seem to say
Hand me a pen,
tear me a page
I'll write a paper poem today!
And so I did, and here it is
transposed for the screen
A paperless, penless, bloodless work
as deceptive as a dream.
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