Tuesday, March 26, 2019

year without printer

Without a printer,
nothing I write is concrete.
I cannot see my drafts of words pile ups on the countertop and clutter the kitchen table.
I cannot print off too many articles that stack up on my desk and next to the stove and get red pasta sauce spilled on them when I cook.
Without a printer, I cannot print off labels to return packages. Every purchase is final.
Without a printer, words don't cost much.
They don't weigh anything, they don't displace any matter with their mass.
No one picks them up, lying about, or overhears unfinished outlines tucked between magazines.
They can be erased with a single keystroke,
like they were never there.

No comments:

Post a Comment