just as delicate as piano keys making music
the black plastic tickles
the whites embossed
something lit up like Christmas trees
joyous in their duties
the keyboard strokes dictate
what our fingers cannot do
we are trapped in this entourage
sending, receiving, erasing data
flows like -like little lava streams
racing faster with two fingered urgency
such novel
ideas written in word-processed perfection
poems of technological wonders
endless streams
collecting into rivers of words
until at least the verbal sea
explodes reason to this keyboard
of entries alpha-numeric
patient progress.
Who is watching us as we work?
Author Notes
simple object-technological gateway.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem