My Writing Clock

(poems go here) Again I write to get these thoughts Out of the clutter of my brain But, as the pen moves across paper, or skin, I find they cannot contain The mechanism inside my head Turns faster with a loud tick tock And with the wheels, my pen moves To the beat of my writing clock. You ask me why I write this Of all the poems I could write, Of long lost love, or a prairie field, Or a mischievous singing sprite. I tell you it’s not for the glory, Or for the analyst to mock But, just to see my pen move To the beat of my writing clock.