I thought I'll start a poem then
then the future tense started
to be past tensed when I parted
my hair with the end of a pen
now it's eleven oh eight
and I'm tired because it's so late
Iambic pentameter
tells me what's the matter
as I stare at the screen quite irate
Eleven oh nine comes around
and by gosh If it's quiet I've found
that I can think in circles
that end up marking purples
just as fast as the car stuck in the ground
eleven eleven
made a wish up to heaven
but I skipped eleven ten
I was chatting with a friend
inane to the end
was I
speaking or typing
again?
eleven twelve
dig and delve
thirteen
fourteen
wait whose counting?
lost track of time
no wait,
eleven fourte-
fifteen
now my thoughts are drifting
throught eleven sixteen
on through
the night
in which
I
might
just...
fall....
zzzz...
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