Joe Zook’s Character Poem

The Writing Infection

I have many names, but to most I am the distraction.

Son of creativity, once I infect you, there is no escape; your

body goes into slow motion as your mind races. I taste of

gold as I power my father’s machine. Touching all surfaces

of the brain, I push all idle thoughts out. No one has

ever glimpsed my presence, for I am faster than

a cheetah, and as cunning as a puma. I float in

on the mist, but I never float out.

I smell of grapes and history,

because I am the essence of the scribe.

I am as incurable as old age

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