Tap. Tap. Tap...
(silence)
"mrr mrr mrr... Hah!"
Rattatat tat! Tat!...
...sounding like a machine gun,
his fingers flew over the keyboard,
as he gave words
to his divine inspiration,
riding it like a Florida surfer...
Sentence after sentence flowed on to the screen...
...and then, 20 minutes later,
the thoughts slowed to a trickle,
to a "Tap. Tap. Tap...."
...and stopped, again.
Some would say,
"A wise man would pause here,
and review what's been written,
tweaking it ever so slightly
to add fluidity
to those awkward phrasings -
all a 'Head Fake' to try to reconnect with the Muse."
However, he was determined to get a chapter written tonight,
and would plow forward,
adding gristle to the editing mill planned for the morrow,
just hoping beyond hope
he could meet his editor's impending deadline.
He didn't care that what he wrote was disjointed -
not well connected at all,
and laying the seed for tons of weeds around that mill.
So, he pecked at the keyboard,
like a pigeon looking for
kernals of truth in a barren field.
Were the similes and metaphors evocative enough?
Only time will tell...