Pinball Poetry

Pinball Poetry

Sitting at the keyboard
fingers poised
waiting for the pin ball
to drop down the shoot
electric bumpers rejecting rapidly
lights flashing
with disturbing epileptic consequences
bells ringing in praise
of Saint Tintinitus
I am comforted
by escape.

And time
all man's mortal enemy
stands still
while moving.

There was a time of symbiosis
between the fingers and the brain
sometimes a gentle cradling
sometimes
a fierce death grip
when the brain responded with
flowing lines
or fitsandstarts
recalling vividly what eyes had never seen
and the fingers did ballet or bugaloo
attached to umbilicals of the past
or searching out the future.

But now the tapdancer is the king
looking for the key (stroke) that unlocks
endorphins
and endolphins
hoping not to be mistaken for tuna.

Flat plastic
celebrating Dustin Hoffman
as we graduate to instancy
to instant change
to modify and codify
faster than a breath.

And time
All man's mortal Enemy
but only source of change
keeps standing still
while moving.

I would spread a blanket on a grassy hillside
surrounded by much maligned dandelions
and stare a poem
into the shape-shifting clouds.

I would bare my breast on an overlook
and shout a poem
into the rocks and rivers.

But I sit (clack)
and sit (click)
and become one with my tool
mesmerized by moving lines.

And time
The only friend of man
moves
as though
it's standing still.