Some days I can type without end, I type so fast I type and send
My visions past the lines that lend, this world its stable balance

Without these lines there is no right, there is no day, there is no light
There is no left, or life insight, these lines are all that keeps us quite

Keep us in shape, they keep us clear, they let us take our quake of care
They quote our wake, their sake is here, they stake our lives, linger in pairs

We let them out with rage about, it seems in dreams they sparkle and sprout
Like cabbages, ravage, slowly grow and leap, out of ground in which they keep

Turmoil down and happiness ablaze, I see the smile still stings your suddle face
A serious life, what a shame, what a waste, what a cast, what a place, what

Is malice

The world is gray
The world is green
The world it sways
Great lengths obscene

I type so quick
I type so fast
That it now seems
It starts at last

It starts and ends
Departs in parts
In heart it sends
It's sense apart

It lends a dart
I throw it past
The decade of
The blatant last

The world is gray
The world is green
The world is great
It whirls, it means

So much to me

The cabbage is fresh
The cabbage is wet
It's forms I caress
Their circles I pet

The cabbage is dipped
Fully drenched in outlet
Upon it's green blood I sipped
My dinner banquette

The world is not what it seems to be
Gold it shines, and it gleams indeed
It sparkles and whines and leans agreed
Against the great worlds economy

The bank is banked, it has its stead
Believed it's free, the gold leaves to sea
The bank is angry, it leaps to meet
The gold that bleats of trial deceit

It tries to slice the gold right in two
But with arms of paper it lies in view
With broken bones, agony undertoned
It loathes alone for ample decades

It grows like foam, then pops and fuzzles
Away, away, awither

I see the trees
I see the sky
I see the life
It passes by

I sit inside
I sit and hide
Behind my curtains
Blind with pride

I see the grass
I see it wave
I see the birds
And try to save

I try to savor
The memory gained
A painsome flavor
For some retained

I see the wind
I hear it wail
I sense the ocean
Ships set sail

But mine stands still
Upon clear ground
And waits for will
By which it's bound

A solace haunted
By verbal malice
The madness taunted
My dreams in need

The grace I wanted
A herbal palace
All to me daunted
By dreams beyond

I've written a long and great deal of lines
In for now but a fourth of the year
I suppose I will write more justice confined
For the other four fourths that appear

Now I'd just like to let you all know
About the one hundred poems I typed
So that you may say, "Ah, is it so!"
And feast upon verses both day and night

Because truly when the light is right
The words conceive without remorse
All the things that no victory can convict
And which be shattered by no force

In celebration of a hundred, this verse
I proclaim in my listening, before second, a first
And a great big feast I expect at the least
For this greatness my months have diverged

Your liddable illdness by scribble