82 words per minute

I have forgotten how to make fire
and how to write by hand

I cannot hold a pen any more
for fear of carving outlines of failed bison into woodchip

I spread sheets instead of wings.

I bury my biros' unwanted heads in sand and
turn the plastic casing into legs of tables for new computers

I have forgotten how to throw a stick
I have forgotten how to use my feet
I have forgotten how to bask in sunlight
but my fingers are remarkable.





June 2009