Forced Inspiration

I am going to force myself
to write this poem.
I cannot take my fingers
off the keyboard
or step away from my computer
until I have said one
thing of substance.
The blank white space
stares at me
hungry for my thoughts.
My fingers click-clack
out keystroke after keystroke
forming out words
describing a moment.
Nothing of import
springs from my imagination.
I am a well without water,
a dried-up, extinct river bed.
Nothing is left
before I’ve even begun.
It would be best to walk away.
I won’t let myself.
Close your eyes and take in
the rythm of the keystrokes
how long can you still form
thoughts with your
eyes closed
Do not corredt any of these typofrachical errors/
Esyes open.
I feel the need to correct.
To go back and make right
what went wrong
when I could not see,
but I am correct to not correct.
Let past mistakes
live in the past.
Try to limit
time spent
typing with
eyes closed.

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