the voice of the machine
unmistakable. a whole room listens as
the natgeo journalist in the forest of my mind
takes a tentative step forward
that night
the ritual
a quiet preparation of the scene
the placing of a sheet
rolling it into view
the smell of oiled letter arms
placement of the fingers
for some thought momentum
the ringing of a bell
the end of every line
i slap the arm to sweep the barrel
down the rail again
hit the block and then recoil
writer's block...
deus ex machina
carry on
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