The Little Hopeless Poem from a Typewriter in Times of Touchscreens

Friday the 13th, Florida, March 2009
10th day of fasting, new typewriter...

A halo of mischief, as on a throne,
sits on this world.

And We
let out decrepit laughter
on the verge of weariness.

I hear glorious misintentioned words
Pronounced and wrapped in felp.

I weave my dreams carefully
Sporadically!
In desperate search for ease.

There is an epidemic, demagogic!
Hunger for hunger.

And keys slouch:
from appearing on a screen
to wildly, mechanically! flying
through the air and slapping the paper
through the ribbons of technicolor ink
like wild hammers.

But I am sure none of this matters
to the frigid functionaries
in this everlasting drought of might and romance.