Harness the Stream

and when the time
comes, the sentence will
appear already begun, as
if words were writing
themselves, this is how

the subconscious works
creating narratives that are
never heard, only thought
until someone tries to
put it all in print, and

then what happens? so
tricky to harness the
stream, all this like a
dream become understood
or forever a mystery

So I Keep On Writing

Mary Oliver writes of
flowers and she does it
very well, as I just stare
at words, wishing that
goldenrod could mean

as much to me, stuck in
this urban world, nature
on the fringe, everything
I cannot see, because in
the car I move too fast

to even smell the air,
but excuses will never
win, nor are they really
true, so I keep on writing,
this much I know to do

Typewriter’s Last Words

Please don’t leave me now
that you’ve seen the future.

My ink is real and you can touch
my paper with your hand holding

words, the ones pressed by my metal.
Permanent black rune, my tattooed

sentences offer so much more than
the screen, where mistakes disappear.

Delete, delete, delete-so easy to
forget all the missteps and time taken

to roll sheet after sheet. But each
letter, each tap, was your imprinted

mind. Go to the computer, but this
crumpled beauty, you will never find.