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?