god love the computer
a processor of words
how easy it is to
create
mix and match
manipulate
visions
ideas

linked by
a string of zeros and ones
it’s the new artist’s palette
reality called forth
from the infinite
onto a screen

my computer is a tall thing
wide, silver and shiny
an object to behold
it hums to me as i write

god love man and his tools

i just don’t know
how the
poets of old
made due with
typewriters
pens
and other
crude instruments
mad with frustration
i would have gone poor
running through reams of paper
lead
and so much ink

full of patience
they obviously thought better than i