Sticky Electric Ink
Written by
on
in
Vindaloo.
They touch too many words
Sticky electric ink stains
Only washing away
In my troubled sleep
Comments
Comments are closed.
Pingbacks
Pingbacks are closed.
Mike C. Fletcher, the VRPlumber, is a philosopher of design turned computer programmer based in Toronto, Canada. He works primarily in the Python programming language, and maintains a large number of Open Source software packages. You can reach him at: mcfletch@vrplumber.com.
Honey on 03/08/2006 6:05 a.m. #
<br />
Write Handed Conundrum <br />
<br />
"If thy hand offends thee, cut it off"<br />
Apparent wisdom from of old<br />
Yet if I remove that which offends him so<br />
How will his hand I hold?<br />
Mike Fletcher on 03/11/2006 12:15 p.m. #
What's in a hand<br />
Graced with polish<br />
Weathered with sun<br />
Calloused and scarred<br />
Soft with scratching quills<br />
<br />
Why hold them<br />
When they slap you<br />
Drive nails into coffins<br />
Braid whips to men enslave<br />
<br />
Seek truth in clear eyes<br />
Not in sweaty touches<br />
Where women stay<br />
Always wondering<br />
What's in a hand
Honey on 03/14/2006 7:30 a.m. #
<br />
When Clear Eyes Cloud<br />
<br />
He climbs aboard to join the herd<br />
Smiling his way through the cattle train<br />
As he scans our faces we recognise<br />
Clearly today heâs clean out of pain<br />
He passes on one and all<br />
He might only imagine what lies within<br />
As long as we hide the broiling spume<br />
Heâll be happy to beam his well meaning grin<br />
<br />
But what is in a smile<br />
Of what worth to us mournful cattle<br />
If he wonât feel what it is he would touch<br />
Or take taste of our daily battle<br />
Heâll look, but he wonât see <br />
Heâll leave the train and then<br />
Weâre left sitting on our benches <br />
As heâs left us time and time again<br />
<br />
Unless this day I should catch his hand <br />
In his passing by<br />
Heâll take displeasure in the pressure<br />
And would no doubt recoil in surprise<br />
Yet before I grant him release<br />
Heâll be forced to search my eyesâ¦<br />
<br />
â¦But I canât reach out on a train<br />
Itâs not the social way<br />
So we allow him his pedantic promise<br />
Of a better day<br />
<br />
He would rather avoid my hand<br />
Heâs own holds too much fear<br />
Of how much Iâll contaminate<br />
If Iâd dare to pull him near<br />
He shuns the pain and death<br />
The baggage we bring on the train<br />
Wishing instead weâd conceal<br />
And reciprocated smile to feign<br />
<br />
Still Iâd wish him to hold my hand<br />
That he would feel what makes it shake<br />
Feel the heat that draws the sweat<br />
Feel the crush that causes it break<br />
Feel the slap of erratic emotion<br />
And discover if itâs worth the while <br />
The wait for the intentioned caress<br />
Delivered with the genuine smile<br />
<br />
We see your smile of hope Mikey<br />
Fortune shines favorably on your view<br />
Though Iâm remembering on the train that day<br />
Why I couldnât smile back at you<br />
Honey on 03/14/2006 8:12 a.m. #
<br />
What's In A Hand<br />
<br />
Touch<br />
A fundamental necessity of life<br />
For which the body cries<br />
<br />
The expression of much <br />
That would neâr else escape <br />
The solitary confinement of eyes<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
http://s5.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=3QU7OTUD01M1O1XQW6A4Y48UL8<br />