the keys are fuzzy as some dense under
growth of language seeks takeover,
greening the light. black engines overhead
growl, ol’ wind-up tigers. cynicism dreams,
empties into air. is it the weathering
end of the weak, or of golden named
things, of identities? can’t even make my
self invisible (my greatest super-power
shriveled by some color out of space
hidden in the Num Lock). I Tab over,
Pause and Break Up, caps unhinged To,
from, under, on this; pushed out of
place, naked as a clod, or cactus spine.
