I need to write but when quantity is the goal,
Not bound by greatness, nor the depths of the soul.
No tears required, no visceral cries,
Just words like rain, falling from the skies.
Maybe about scents that herald the rain,
Or the dog-eat-dog world, a mundane refrain.
Just put words on paper and get them out the door,
I will read the social sites, for a market to explore.
Not for acclaim, nor a poet’s fame,
Just write some verses, a simple aim.
I can write a fat poem, or one short or one thin,
In the kitchen, or the backroom, or somewhere within.
Not pretty lines or ones with words precise,
Just poetic fragments of a scattered device.
A casual cadence, a simple rhyme,
poetry crafted, line by monotonous line.
WoPoLi 
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