it's not a cancerous tumor,
it's a lump full of singing
birds. it's not laughter,
it's a thousand mordant
hornets in your ear. it's
not a bottle of liquor, it's
an aquatic party...and,
that's not my phone ringing,
it's you and i, playing in
the power lines.

...i never quite realized this, but i still
desperately want a typewriter. in some strange
worldly obscurity, i feel like it may complete
me. i can finally be selfish and neat, keeping
all my thoughts to myself. i'll start looking
today, maybe, at garage sales and thrift stores.
if i stop writing here, you'll know that
i finally got my typewriter.

i want a cryptic pen pal.