The keyboard, so functional, efficient
cluck-cluck as my fingers touch keys
and rattle-rattle single-fingered
I create fields of flowing words
that glide-glide across the screen.
Sometimes weeding is called for as I
move backwards across creation and
pluck out the blackest of them all,
into the void of nothingness, the
dustbin of my window on the world.
Solid, stale, pale, it calls on me,
wakens me in the morning, wailing to
be clunk-clunk-clunked coldly until
lunchtime, short pause and then an
onwards scroll till nightfall.
And then there are the moments when
I turn it upside down, and all my
crumbs and hairs and fingernails
escape from its control. They scatter
and lose meaning, whispering farewells.
My keys rattle-rattle as I punch-punch
with fing-fingers and I produce-duce
word-words that I make-make-make. I
am the keyboard typing word-words into
so-soul with control-trol over beat-beat.