I fear my typed rows
Words fumbled by that flashing dash
Of a humming laptop, with
Keys broken, screen blurred by fingerprints of
Time when the light was
Too high too low; this is
An unnatural predilection I know but
It is as clear as my journal was scrawled
Filled with poems severed, halved thoughts
Ideas roaming and a spare profile of my mother
Black ink smearing,
When I evolve from caveman scribbles to a legible font
Will it like a guppy in a baggy
Shaken t'whole way home
Flop over to an untimely demise

Gurgling in the gutter,
It
Laughing, Weeping
In a screeching woman's voice:
You
Killed me
Never meant to be ensnared by clarity nor
Saved in pristine condition –
Dying a sterile death of modernity.