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Probably perposterous
Or maybe just monotonous
The words of other people
Rattle in my head
And down my arm
And out the pen
And pages pages pages
Let out of their cages
Lined up
Dressed down
And formed into a plot
Though it’s not
Ever quite what I intended
Always maybe something else
Puffed up
Drawn out
And turned out to left
When I was thinking right
But it might
Just work out in the end
If I add another bend
Or a twist
Or a kiss
And a quote
From the dope
That I added on a whim
Then we’ll see no more of him
Building structure
Killing darlings
And reWrite, reWrite, reWrite
So then someday it might
Actually be read.

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