Typewriter Key


Clickity clack
my head is in my hat
while my eyes rest comfortably
on your hands.

You are interestingly active
never less than kinetic,
spatially inclined.

I try to peer into your brain
but, this is just impossible,
as you are so often muted
in both sound and manner.

Clickity clack
my conscience is compact.
Stuffed into pigeonholes
Of acceptance.

I trust in the written word,
though, often seen absurd
or lacking in some small gesture.

Clickety clack,
lets make this a pact.
I will accept a sticky Kea,
If you accept my mutter.

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