there, across the keys
bobbing up and down
on waves
monosyllabic, mute saints
knuckles cracking, bones snapping
strung along about the endless white
a long march of nothing
thoughts about death
but I will not die today, in the rain
as it tumbles down yet unseen
I'm ready to let dry
clothes, fingers, the day the night
where goes the wind in mountains unseen
and the rain distorts the screen
floods the page.
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