Monday, January 22, 2024

Every Little Thought I Type

 


Every little thought I type

Comes out garbled on the screen.

The words go through my fingers

To the keys and then…

 

Gibberish glitters back at me.

I can’t print that.

What is wrong with the word processor?

Those words on that screen are meaningless.

 

My heart would tell you

So much more like the leaves

Falling golden from the trees

In a pulsing continuum…

 

But word processing can’t capture

The steady rhythm of my

Heartbeat as I type the words

Which disappear between keys and screen.

 

September 2021

 

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