There’s the angel nodding at me Just as I was thinking about independence Or commitment? Well aren’t they the same thing, anyway. The typewriter unnumbs my brain Makes it lose its soft malleability That Ancient Greeks so despise to this day. I can be good in that frozen brain But I can’t be well. She looks At me and smiles like a cat And I get scared of the feathers of her words. The sand the figurine The cancer All a grainy, grinding noise in my hand She sees through me And I am left with no one I can hide from To ease my separation anxiety.
The keep where I keep my own mind’s words Is looking at me, rejected. That is because the angel’s words I need so much, that whe- -n they finally arrive I’ve got to grab them before they get the chance to pull and drag me.
Drag me. Type type type. And then you wonder why I started getting migraines.Thirty soon and every decade it gets deeper. The disturbance. The divergence. The ******* through the elements of the dullest childhood in the whole **** world.