at 4:49 this prose starts

this prose i write, wether slow or fast
keeps the mind moving, free at last, free at last
and when its all done over again
like mice and men, who messed with him
who makes the money, and keeps it clean
and uses tangerines to make vaseline
who is the sharpest tool, in the shed, keeping the ill thoughts
from killing his head, dead
who writes in chants and doesn’t pretend
two minutes is a long time
to write and rewind
each life line
is dotted, check the counter change
we make music on the pass to make fine waste
of paint
two minutes is almost up, so im’ back again, keeping time
in my head
and releasing the pen
from my hand.