I Do Not Know The Secret...,

Asper Art Of Writing Acclaimed Poem...

Not purposeful intent,
when tasking self (Das Scribe)
a nondescript member of
Homo sapiens village people tribe
metaphorical spear in hand ready

to unbridal strong arm as vibe
resoundingly resonates, sans
(crackles, snaps, and pops)
optimal instant to expunge bribe
bing fountainhead of creativity
oft times screed or futile diatribe

no matter smug satisfaction appeased
as mental delectation on par with eclair
for taste buds, a reward dare,
I acknowledge mine appealing talent
(undoubtedly a slightly biased opinion)
with fast break for game of Solitaire,

or sink concentration matte tear
real awaiting with bated breath
comments, feedback, input...usually fair
to middling acceptable,
though frequent occasions blare
ring liberal dollop of adulation,

warms hearty cockles of this hermit
comfortably numb in his lair
which decency, humility, modesty...
of mine to avoid trumpeting pomposity
as if yours truly snooty billionaire
keeps in check (ma mate)

cognitive firmae tubby beware
boot up pawn occasion, the errant knight

within me finds ego expanding square
lee out beyond outer limits
of the twilight zone, where
entire cerebral cranium
shatters temple mount scare
ring eureka temporarily

finding me unaware,
viz blinding, deafening, and
obliterating brainstorm spate bare
lee delivering tummy any appreciable,
pronounceable, noticeable... impact
relishing this devil may care

state of being if only...threadbare
tenuous consciousness endured
sustaining oblivious blissfulness
absentmindedness forever delivering cheer
full countenance of mine finding me
unafraid of Virginia Woolf, a bugbear,

and/or he who dons most powerful paw
he can render complex edifice
of democracy to disappear
thus...after shaking wordy playwear
an early plug to vote November 2020
due to here
about nine months and one year.