Oh for a muse
Oh for a muse of fire that would ascend
The humming laptop of invention
Pages to scroll through, printers to produce
And readers to behold the swelling scene.
Think when I talk of wordage that you see it
Dancing its dark pixels across the screen
For tis these thoughts that now must spark my verse,
Spilling it here and there, leaping the obstacles,
To bind elusive words into an hourglass.
For the which supply, I raid from home
Swiftly to form, on parody shelf, a poem.