Poems

If my fingers were pounding an Olivetti Lettera would the jungle trek of the workdayfeel less like deforestation? If so, would the temporary paralysis above those keys be cracked once I’ve emailed another invoice? If not, could a deeper breath in this brief oasis of thought bring back the warmth lost when the sun sets…

___ said ___ is not staying, ___ left hand still warm from the soft of ___ back___ caressed to contour ___ beauty, to cup ___ desire.___ hand brushes ___ to the sideBlood scurries from ___ crutch, rises to the region of the brainthat snaps ___ to flight:a fountain pen to record,a typewriter to draft, a…

we feel so attached to our bodies…