That blue typewriter has taken hold of me
I bend and avoid it (like a wordsmith
who has lost his tongue in a knife fight)
The funny thing is
that typewriter isn't blue
but my sewing machine is
Maybe I should have learned to thread a needle
maybe I did
This poem is called Fodder
In the city
the sun sets in the east
against the mirror of office buildings
At our table
You read me someone else's poetry
quietly and deliberately
The cattle chews on the thread
I replace all of the buttons
because I am missing
one
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