For years they typed
in one way or another
my livelihood
fingers touching
no frets, strings or keys but
F1, Control, Alt, Delete
but they itched
as if the scratches
circa 1978
(don't pick up half wild cats)
were fevered
for more than livelihood
and holding the thumb
over the bonghole
Then they smoothed
over clay
cut collages
with scissors
dipped brushes
into paint
scratched pens
onto poems
&
then they
stopped itching
Can't sell that remedy
in a pharmacy:
apply forever once a day
twice for withered souls
That's beautiful Sue. Truly. Finding our outlet is of the utmost importance for our sanity.
ReplyDeletemmm, yeah... I love it! I really, really do. I love the prescription at the end especially : )
ReplyDeleteabsolutely love this sue
ReplyDeleteof course, you knew I would :)
I love these thoughts ...
ReplyDeletemy hands in my youth got me into a lot of @@@@ - still do!!!
Glad it spoke to you, ppl. And glad yours are still getting you into a bit of @@@@, Mork. Just a little :)
ReplyDeletewonderful!
ReplyDeleteElegantly simple, yet profound. Glad you have liberated your hands to create so much beauty.
ReplyDelete