Typewriter Blues

God lives in your typewriter, Alexandria.

But those tangled threads of salvation
Can’t be teased out without your longing.

Those unwilling moths of desire will need
Stirred up from the dust of your memory.

We embraced none of the others in poetry.

Not those desperate hags endlessly menstruating.
Nor those lonely incels hopelessly masturbating.

Not those politesses of language, sex, and love,
commenting on every separate obituary of our dying.

Yes, we can decide to start over,
But you will always be a personal touchstone for me.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I wonder if he really does live there....just might be if he lives within us, and we are the writers of verse.
His word comes in many different forms----and maybe the blues come from how we discard those desperate hags and lonely incels....