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Paper Writer

Safe Mode.
Blue Screen.
Codes & Meaningless Numbers.

My Laptop has crashed(angry I have to Co-exist with these machines that run on emptiness).

I find myself now, in the dark-only light from an overpriced mobile phone, 5 minutes to 6:00a.m, and yearning for a typewriter with magic.
Like the photograph that tiles my Blog.
That maroonish clunker with black buttons belonged to Sylvia Plath. 

She, a Paper Writer.
We all should still be wrapped in ribbons and ink,even in this lonely age of dehumanizing technology.
The World, moving, but
I can hear the old keys crying.
My disposable storm is coming.


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