Punching Up Poetry

I think

all the thoughts

I could ever think

are right here on this keyboard

disguised from Q to M and A to Z

and everything in between makes up everything

just gotta open my heart, open my hands and punch the right buttons

cause if I type with my fists

I’ll only punch out: ioijijzjzx dskjrfijrofgkpo ,mscjijook

which might have a chance to be poetic in Icelandic

meanwhile back in English ioijijzjzx dskjrfijrofgkpo ,mscjijook

gives poetry a black eye.

Here, let me type faster so you can read faster

there, how’s that for clarity?

This metamorphosis from thought to written word

is the flight path from the soul to the hand

when words have weight

even if weighed in a drop of ink

this ink has height and length

even abstract art has a frame

and either I’m drunk

or the world is out of focus

and I’m writing in the dark

blinded by the computer screen

going towards the light

with the faith

someone else will see me more clearly than I see me

right now

wherever this now may be

when there’s this now how your eyes mix us all together.

Now you have to go

cause I must come

to an end

and though I’ll miss you like crazy

I know that the memory of your eyes feeding me these lines

is worth all the pain

of all the words I’ll wish I’d written.

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