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Sleepy + Poetry = Goldmine

This morning, I was sleepy at work. Because I was sleepy, I wrote a “poem” (I use the term loosely) in an effort to wake up. This was the result.

A Poem for a Pleasant Summer Morning

Sleepy is little Cory, sitting at his comp;
The tea he just drank is giving him no pomp.

The pleasant mint flavor did nothing to awake
This poor and lazy boy, in need of a good shake.

“Wake up,” he tells himself. “Awaken! Do your work!”
To no avail, he sinks deeper into dark sleep-murk.

He tries to write a poem, to turn his brain back on;
It’s going well, when suddenly, a lit…………..
dsfg’kl;df’hkasjdlghajsdg;hasudghasjgdbhnajk

ASLEEP.

I think I’m going to self-publish a book of my own poetry. I’ll call it A Squirrel Among Lions: The Poetry of Cory Hershberger. I mean, if I can keep my rhyme scheme so beautifully intact and my meter so inspired all the time, how can I not succeed? I smell a new career in my future, and it smells like overblown self-worth and misguided aspirations with hints of vanilla and citrus.

"Lock up your libraries if you like, but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind."

-Virginia Woolf, "A Room of One's Own"

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