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Dennis Willis
Poems
Aug 2019
A Note We All
How do my arms and hands know
to type no further?
Crack. Thru. This. No further.
Almost like cramps. The resistance.
Muscle's reluctance decorates
these lines
Working my hands til fingers push on. Stretching
between lines.
This is not [clenching] bad
Look at your hands. Stretch them.
Clench a fist.
I'm smitten. I am hardened. I am flicked.
A fingers width to meaning. This is mine.
A note we all like. Playing.
Written by
Dennis Willis
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