Every Little Thought I Type
Every little thought I type
Comes out garbled on the screen.
The words go through my fingers
To the keys and then…
Gibberish glitters back at me.
I can’t print that.
What is wrong with the word processor?
Those words on that screen are meaningless.
My heart would tell you
So much more like the leaves
Falling golden from the trees
In a pulsing continuum…
But word processing can’t capture
The steady rhythm of my
Heartbeat as I type the words
Which disappear between keys and screen.
September 2021
About This Poem
This is a poem about the difficulty of capturing things in words. While I sometimes think poetry can convey thoughts better than most words, sometimes nothing does your feelings or thought justice. It's because they are your own and sometimes you don't have the capacity to convey those thoughts fully to anyone, even yourself. The photograph is of the library at George Eastman House in Rochester, New York.
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