This is just my fingers on the keys
no direction, no purpose, not worth shit
or not worth as much as the touch of each stroke
I feel provoked or even coaxed to strike each letter
with the furver of my life endeavors, no, I'll do this one better
No regrets felt from the disgrace of having to push the backspace.
I masterbate my cyberspace, till my page is covered with life
sounds trite?
Trite is what I like.
It's meant not to impress, find a soul mate, or look up your dress or address.
this is stress embodied as best,
if I didn't do it on the web, the streets would be a mess.

-Ocktober
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This is P.J. - 1 (Poetic Junk 1), a freestyle poem. I do these to get the bull out the brain. They are usually written in less than five minutes, to keep it truely unpredictable! P.J. - 2 soon cum!!