questions drop dumb weight from the night they distribute anguish and fright battle tight against comfort moral prattling defeats sleep international distress weeps from my seeping device fraught
Cywydd Llosgyrnog Brevity Homework
a plumage of anxiety
questions drop dumb weight from the night sky ample plumb they plate anguish offence of any moral comfort in my sleep like senility milking suction on thumb with pained dental needs no answers no sleep tonight no piping pan no kingdom come and feed
you lie like a cheap rug, but I fill in the blanks for my own peace you are just an actor, I am directing the scenes you are not as powerful as you seem all my power is found in the in-betweens the venom rumors, toxic to your reputation with all my information like a computer are you sure you want to test me?
How would the best user friendly widget stay that way in a profit incentive? The physical products escape this unseen (They're thrown out en masse when profit fades) The internet’s been a slow fade from revolutionary layouts and interaction to the bare minimum you could tolerate Today most are conditioned not to bat an eye when the most trusted news sites are filled with grotesquely glitching ads that look worse than a 2001 spam virus Selling sweatshirts with an incomprehensible automated message containing your last name Then it switches to threats the FBI wants to take over my machine
~ Ada's got a scheme a flying machine constructing wings of paper, oilsilk, wires, and feathers faster than light in all kinds of weather Ada's going to fly ~
For Augusta Ada King, Countess of Lovelace (née Byron; 10 December 1815 – 27 November 1852), daughter of poet Lord Byron and renowned mathematician. She valued metaphysics as much as mathematics, viewing both as tools for exploring "the unseen worlds around us."
When I type bat instead of cat, do the letters get mad at me?
Is it a vacation, a retirement to the land far away, full of words I’ll never get to know, or did I send them away to crumble into pixels?
Is that forgotten apology chopped up into little pieces in the back of the computer, a plastic box under the harddrive that Daddy gets to clean out when he refills the printer ink?
I want to read the book filled with all the lost letters, the one where my fourth-grade book report comes after the job application you were never qualified for, but just before the neighbor’s college essay, deleted so his own Mommy could help him.
Can I ever check on them?
I hope they turn into a book about superpowers.
I’d be sad if these keys turned into nothing more than a scrapped poem or a forgotten apology.
I miss the forgotten letters.
Do you think they ever miss me?
"Hey Mommy?", "bat," and "cat" should be italicized.
On and off, on and off It lets out a dusty cough Old and rusted Been long since it was dusted Working all night It produces light You're using it to its delight You used to type on that light box It's been long since you used him Yet he refuses to grow dim It sparks in delight It won’t give up to this new fight It shines bright tonight ~20/4/21