Night’s death:
Sat at the printer
I watch
Stare
It knows I’m there
We two
Senses locked
Psyche each other out
It, in black anti-bleach –
The little LCD
Observes
Catches red-in-white eyes
…
Alone
Cold
Stone shadows
They slink across the room
Know the score
The printer knows too
And off it all goes
Down the line
Cabled vine
Spreading word
Telling tales
How absurd
Poet fails!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem