Poem for Now
Read this — it may dissolve in minutes, cotton candy thinking, vanishing on the tongue of time.
Words simmer on my fingertips, leap to the screen without a sound. Yet when someone else reads them, there’s a spark— low hum or high voltage, moving or static, but alive.
The keyboard crashes its cymbals. The mouse scurries across the wooden table— a small, electric creature.
Cheese. Smile. Tell me— did you feel it?
Photos:P. Busch
The low spark of high heeled boys .