forget what i started
forget that I don't have a fancy program for Apple
that lets me think in peace,
forget theme
and reason.
I play the harpsichord, I play the tv remote
this static spoiling young minds,
just my kind, my type.
type type type
these aren't real words just cold and code
with no heart.

Outside is new spring heat and UV
and tanktops and cancer in waiting
among the youth that fumbles and fawns
over those XX, XYs