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Poetry Pool

Morning Screen

Before the sun rises
And the dew begins to flee,
My monitor and my files,
They call and beckon me.
The internet, the work, the unpaid bills --
Somehow working with them all
Clears out the predawn webs
With which my mind is filled.

Oh, I have an agenda; there are, after all,
Things to be done!
Must balance that account, check the e-mail,
But before the soft light, reason doesn't often

Fantasy and promise seem to dwell in the
Predawn light;
Promises of who I could be
If I could just stay in the twilight.
A blinking cursor,
A loading page,
A whirring hard drive
All exist on a non-existent page.
Millions are made by/for/on these beige machines,
Yet in the morning,
Before the sun,
It feels alone,
Not all that fun.

So off I go with a poem
This dawn,
Sending it into cyberspace
For someone else to dwell upon.

You never know, after all,
Who finds value in something so small
As non-existent word on a non-existent page
from a non-existent man
in a small room off the hall.

Michael Blazey


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