Text

The cursor blinks incessantly,
Waiting,
Hoping to scribble letters against a blank void;
A blank void it can't help but hate.

With grand fury, the cursor spews and spawns.
A breathless pitter-patter of letters and semicolons,
Soldiers in the war between the lines.

Line for line,
Gutter after gutter,
The blank world imbues,
Injects,
Incriminates.

The dotted i's,
The crossed t's,
The hole-perforated e's,
The grinning u's,
All taunts at a maddening cursor.

More and faster,
It spreads its children over the screen,
Like spilled alphabet soup.
It even plunders the helpless margins.

It machine-guns credit reports,
Sports articles,
Lol's,
Erotic literature,
This poem,
All an attempt to defy a vacuous enemy.

A sea of a new color takes hold.
Defiance becomes authority.
And all that remains of the blank void,
All that survived,
Is tiny line of pixelation.

It quivers in its defeat,
A strenuous palpitation,
Until,
Like nothing ever happened,
It blinks.

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Now playing: Nine Inch Nails - Ringfinger
via FoxyTunes

The Beach

I play with sand because all is sand.
I build castles from it despite their inevitable demises.
The wind's abrasions suffers the towers until their moist walls crack.
It's alright because I know the wind well,
It suffers me not.

Others climb intricate stairs upwards,
They pass buckets of sand in haste,
Hoping to beat the wind,
Hoping to beat the tide.

Their castle falls as it should,
And I laugh.

Upside-down buckets and half-buried spades amuse me,
Not upside-down and half-buried humans.
Boys with bowls above their brows scurry.
Only their quick glances and quick whispers peak over the trenches.

Someone captured their flag as is expected,
And I laugh.

The wind ushers the tide to me as if giving it away.
I seem to be the only one to recognize such a charitable act.
Oh well all the more for me.
Footsteps follow my feet toward the hissing,
Until my immersed torso becomes ghostly.

I drown in the frothing deep as was foreseen,
And I laugh.