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A man sits in a room
Far away
Too far away

But there’s little that can be done to change that

A days’ journey journeys on
Times a-wasting
A blank slate sits in front of him

Ready to be embellished

With worded finery
And so he writes
And writes
Trying to make things right

Words come to him


Then a little bit quicker

But then they slow down once again

There’s far too much pressure

In his head, hand, and other places

But he perseveres and continues

Message on the mind
He dabs his silent linguistic brush into the pool of words

There, up there

Where none can see them

But himself

He begins to assemble them

Into something cohesive

Or so he does hope it will be

But ultimately he’s not the final judge


And then it happens
He hits his stride

And the canvas quickly begins to fill up

Complex notions and ideas

Far too many to be constrained in a humble 11×8 space

And so everything gets rendered


Time continues

To Move

But he doesn’t

He stays stationary

Until the “AH HA” moment arrives

As it always does

He removes his typers

Lest a stray one ruin everything and he have to start again

Taking the long view
He examines his work

Eyes moving from left to right
Then top to bottom
“Yes” he thinks to himself, “this is exactly what I meant”
Well sort of, there’s always room for improvement

Though his intended audience of one eagerly awaits a finished product

He refuses to submit just any old thing

And so the self-critique continues

Light streams through the window
Illuminates the preview screening
Were a rainbow to cascade through a window
And settle on this worded manifestation
It would be the gold that the relevant parties have longed for

A tingling sensation overtakes him

And he knows intimately that his work is done
He licks his lips in lieu of an envelope
And then clicks a button, or two

And off it goes…

error: Copyright 2022 Christopher Little. All rights reserved.