The screen flashes on
And the tapping of keys
Breaks the silence
Currently holding the day
Coffee the first opiate
Drug of choice slips down
The throat losing fingers
A few more will follow
As I try to tap out the latest
Poem or short story
In the production line
Of my body of works
Awakened they move about
On the keyboard tap dancing
Words into sentences, verses
Later I'd look to change
Coffee for alcohol
Further loosening my resistance
So maybe I can write
Like those great poets and writers
Who seemed to drink so much
And whose work I greatly admire
Perhaps that's just an excuse
To drink and write some more
One opiate follows another
Typesetting the liquid of my keys
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem