The second cup of coffee black
Is what unlocks my tired mind.
Ideas for my latest rhyme
Volcano from my chaired behind.

My fingers tremor with the flow,
The muse complains I’m way too slow,
“Oh, snap out! We’ve got work to do.”
I close my eyes and type on cue.

An hour’s worth of flinting thoughts
Combust into a second’s spark,
And calloused skin on plastic keys
Defines the beat, the punch, the arc.

Endorphins, hormones, pressured blood
Tsunami, hurricane, and flood.
The poem marches to their beat.
Before I know, it is complete.

I celebrate. I send it out.
I stand before the mirror tall.
My yellowed teeth deflate the grin:
“You’re just an addict. That is all.”

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