just as a hoovered keyboard will bristle
for days with static & indignation
or a pencil will never be sharpened
when the lead’s smashed down to the chewed red end
& pens with blue or green ink always leak
on parts of the hand that haven’t touched them
& we have to give up wondering why
italic nibs are best for sculpting cheese
& all the metaphoric language smacks
of disconnected desperation &
random items from the inventory
hold hands & hover in a translucent
soft blob of ineffective superglue
well this is how I’m feeling when you’ve gone