She Said she was a fan
of my text laying hand
As I wrote things on the page
of this web world stage

And played the next Text
As a guitarist handles frets
And she listened to
the words that I made

And she returned to
listen on networks net glisten
As words wrapped
in minds eye views swayed

I tried to tell her
But couldn't find color
In this world of ASCII
poemetric blockades

She's a fan
So she said
Making bed and have bread
in the old text trail cottage
I made

As I wrote
and I hammered
and I found my voice stammer
The way my thoughts
spilled upon the page

And so I tossed and
I burned
and I felt my heart turn
to have a soul
that listened in
on this stage

An audience of one
but no time to have fun
for my life tore me
further away

And I bated good farewell
As I turned back to hell
And I figure it out
much to my dismay

That I was stuck
in a rut
of an emotional cut
That did
fairly well
prove me paid

For these labors
I tired
For good half by hour
And an reward
too distant be made

So huffed and I puffed
and I grew strangely gruff
As I made my way home
on the page

I'd leave her tonight
But would be back
into flight
Should she ask
For a poem
I made

And I'd gladly
tilt hats madly
Give a leap
and a kick
if she'd wish for
a trick
In the text
that I
hand made

So I bid her
good night
And let dreams
take my flight
As this justice was
once I did pay

And so I soared
Nottant bored
At the thoughts
yield with swords
upon dreams that
fallen angels did
lay.

And cast now
to a bow
towards my final
stage crowd
where all the people
sudden walked way

And left was
this girl
with a twin
and a whirl
to know how
special it was
to hold sway

And a glisten
in hand
I left
as a man
that would bring
a smile some other day.
....
good night ***