Ink and Echoes
Stretching out my crooked frame
I once again
see the odds are good enough
to join all those other nameless beings
who populate the internet
with ink and echoes.
In a dormant room
a laptop is singing quietly to itself.
Its calulating clock brain
ticking off moments
on its fingerless hands
waiting for the pitter patter
of my existential fingers to arrive.
A green plant (grown from seed)
is still sleeping.
I forgot what kind it is, it has no name
but against all odds
it flourishes in a dream-like way.
All night
posts from the innominate or,
the non-de-plumed
have been arriving from out of nowhere.
Against all odds, ink, and echoes
wait for me in a dreaming kind of way
for a reply, or at least an answer
to whatever, whom or why?
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