The screen is pure black
It emerges from sleep in a lightning instant,
is shiny and flat as a sheet.
It must be turned on, ignited
and the fingers keep typing, typing
alternation of depression and release,
and that is how we get things done.
Every night the world is made anew.
Solder the priest that binds wires,
pluses and minuses
pour in from around the globe
and in the shadow, little fireflies
sentinels that guard our dreams
I’m just ten posts away from my 100th post.