GENERATIONS Copyright (C) 1997 by Not Nice Music
II. A COLLECTION OF OBSCURITY by Edwin M. Drogin

58. To My Typewriter

In burbling gushes the words trip and dance
A flow of staccato, a steel romance.
The sharp tap-tap-tapping of typewriter keys
Have no glamor no rhythm no soft melodies.

The gliding of penpoint on smooth glossy sheet
Can recall nought but parodies and weary defeat.
It's the sharp tap-tap-tapping that wakens the soul
It's the sharp tap-tap-tapping that reaches the goal.

Let me think in sharp rushes
Let pound through my fingers, the pounding of brain.
The emphasis gushes
Like pouring of rain

Like pouring of rain on a sheet-metal roof
I flow, yet I splatter-a point is a point
On the edge of a finger- a cold metal joint.

How it pounds-like a drumhead
How it pierces my thought.
It is forged like hot steel
My hands, they have wrought.

The mind-soft and easy-can flow through a pen
But the pounding and jarring of a mind not at ease
Requires the cold touch-the tap-tapping of keys.