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.


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