When I write,
I am me.
Little bits of Lucy come out
like squozen toothpaste on to
an expectant page.
Each word tumbles out
as if pushing the other
in a queue.
The domino effect of
thought,
crystallised and channelled through
touch and finger;
the thought of the
hand,
the birthing of letters
as each tap tempers
new text.
When I write
I am with you.
Surfing with you,
on you, in you.
Less tactile
than visions that may
distract,
and yet conspire to
inspire.
It’s funny how new tranches
of life pulse through these
limbs,
to express what they desire,
catalysing with technology.
I am reproduced,
iterated and multiplied –
screengrabbed,
Control+F’d –
hand and word,
you and me.
