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The convenience of tech
has caused me to neglect
and almost forget
my sixth digit.
How, with it,
I connect my abstractions –
make thoughts manifest
through its actions:
Scratching and friction.
Capture my diction.
Trap them
between bars of blue.
Take my passions
and paste them like glue
to second dimensions.
View them like God’s Spirit
hovering over firmaments.
Erase them.
Remake them more permanent
with each successive iteration –
burning them deeper
into the eye of the re-reader,
into the mind of inner speaker.
Refined until I find
its perfection through edits.
Writer’s mind and my pencil
connected combine
to record my reflections –
make mirrors out of paper
reshape words into
medicine or weapons
with six fingers: four resting
upon two and a palm
gliding along this surface
from west side
eastward with purpose.
Laying my inscriptions
to birth this
fertility write into verses
that show you who I am;
convey how I feel.
Make what I remember
and imagine more real
to the world outside
of my head.
Sometimes I need
wood pulp and lead
to get back to my basics.
- HymnAgen
