Writing Through Madness

POETRY

Free verse

Removing these ill-fitting glasses,
pulling my hands across my brow over my hair;
head back fingers clasped, a yawn comes from deep within
releasing a gasp, gurgle in my throat as the back arches a shudder.

Newly found ulna shoulder nerve pain travels through the elbow
numbing pinky and ring fingers, bad posture for
eighteen months sitting with phone and computer
feeding obsession unable to tear away from their keys.

Communicating with the screen through cumbersome middle fingers or thumbs, wondering, what is this touch type I hear people speak of?
Is it a secret language? Tell me about this, touch type!

In my world, touching has to be sanctioned, or you will be ostracised
by your community, the community of the world even!

Oh, now my wife looks at me like she knows not
this mad hunched back pouring over a keyboard
with no neck, just a head and two fingers
hooked onto those ill-fitting glasses, grunting gabled words to myself.

I didn’t notice putting them back on again.

Luckily I refrained from using this pic as the headliner.

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