internet youkali

Fingers hovering like humming birds over the keys.




A thrum of hesitation as each letter is pecked out

from a starling-rush of platitudes.


At first I blamed you.


Taking a moment to look around at the other glowing

heads craned over their screens, I can’t help but think

we are all writing to you.


You understood too well our limitations …


The pierced something-something proprietor behind the counter

reads a dog-eared paperback copy of Beautiful Losers.


… I envied that.


He thumbs his braided silvering soul-patch like a bookmark that holds

in place this precarious moment of reflection.


The words come faster, speckling the liquid screen

with nervous plover tracks, bleeding together,

muddying the shallows of this stream of consciousness.


It is the futility of everything that I cling to now.


The past and present divided

by a rift no keystroke can mend.

A bandaged finger hovers,

poised between delete and send.