He gave me a typewriter

With clackity*clack keys

And a chime that rings

When I’ve gone too far

And need to



This sort of typing

Feels more like writing

Fingers flexed

Ink on the page

Uneven, imperfect

And glorious.


Strike the keys

Stamp each stroke

Hard or soft

It’s up to you

The writer, the typist.


He gave me a typewriter

With ribbons blackened

And linkages yellowed–

All things considered…

I suppose he really is a

Decent sort of fellow.


Fiddle Strings and Saturn’s Rings

Girl Silhouette

You told her she was funny and you

Told her she was smart

You told her she was your everything but

Then you broke her heart.


Silly boy, silly boy

With the petty games you play

Making promises

But in the end you get your way.


You told her she was the rising sun and you

Told her she was a star

You told her she was Saturn’s rings but

Then you wrecked her car.


Silly boy, silly boy

How many times have you played

The fiddle strings

Of pretty girls’ young tender hearts.


You thought she would swallow every lie

Thought she’d look away

You thought she would believe your lips but

Now it’s time to pay.


Silly boy, silly boy

You’ve played too hard and too long

Can’t hide forever

Time to find out that you were wrong.


Now she’s moving beyond the train wreck

That you made for her

Now she’s not glancing round at all

She’s back down on earth.


Silly boy, silly boy

Never underestimate

The heart of a girl

Backstab her and it’s yours she’ll break.