To riding your bike midday past the three-piece suits

[power2theswoosh]

Click clack
The keys slap against the keyboard
I write
Almost as an instinct
As some crazy wild impulse I would feel
Even naked, clinging to the forest floor
Some odd primal smell in the air would tell me
Whisper to me softly
"Write, write, write."

So I do
Even though I'm certain no one will comment
Although I have nothing to say
My mind a boring screensaver
With words bouncing in and out

The end