they....

where did we find time to write and believe we were
poets..
dreamers..
more then the graffitti etched on childhood walls
and now in age the bus station dialogues
my shopping list finds in the cages of the snake
of carts meshed together
does my script look as interesting

i found typewriters lonely and black
grey and misplaced on the lawns
of summer sales
got them running....idling works and
words through ribbons and blank pages
before this internet became the rage

i miss the typewriters but silence now
in our paper thin patience is a nuance
over truance of invasion

i obey

i enjoyed burning them in times of cleansing
windy dark nights stirring the soul
the heaps of words frittered by the breeze
rising like the japanese lanterns in new years
rising from the little lake nearby

dreams lost wishs stillborn ideals
joys and aches
all that was missing
and all that is
right
here

i have found you the others
my typewriter sleeps
laptop liasons

a mirage come to life
the shimmering muses
dance
the words
ignitions
for the creative
engines idling

i am thankful for neo
i am thankful for you
poets