In my pocket
I have the key,
To every piece
Of poetry,
For many days
In my pocket
it stays
Until my mind
sets it free

A piece of paper,
folded thrice
A mechanical pencil
for writing precise
Abundant thought
Of which I jot
Forming a draft
To start with

I will repeat this
several times,
Onto this paper
several lines,
Until there is
no more space
I will not remove
or erase
Any line,
already in place

When I have reached,
This final phase
typed it in the computer
Is where it stays,
Until I am ready
To submit,
The final poem
as you see it

Marcus McKinley

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-poetry-secret/