Eight and a half by
fourteen sheets
slide in a rhythmic symphony,
thrust and removed
by a robotic hand
on pins and needles,
caring only
that the ink flowing
from my nib
does not hesitate
and pause,
caught suddenly
by sentiment
strong enough
to change the tide.


This untethering
of the yesterday's
that encased me
in framed walls
surrounded by
white pointed fence,
chicken noodle soup,
and puppy mutts
is long overdue,
preceded
by lines of hearses
that carried
dreams to their eternal
resting place.

Home once,
now legal words
processed by
mindless bytes
slide before me
in rhythmic indifference
as my hand
dances across
the page
anxious
to be free
to reclaim
its rightful
residence in
familial corners
of my mind.