What are you to do
What choices can be made
Throat blinded
Vision raw
No planning for this.
What now that loud shifts louder
Night silhouettes
Blistering regrets
How do you scream when you are already screaming
How does your voice last.
Where is all this coming from
Who do you call
When you drown out your own voice
Irregular noises
Guttural piths
Competitive voices racing to closed doors.
Again and again I ask
How do you scream when you are already screaming
-by Thomas Typewriter
A beautiful thing
Yes, a beautiful thing
Sits alone on a shelf
Wondering,
Pondering,
What is my true self
When I find
To my voice,
To my charms,
All are deaf
-Thomas Typewriter
A small voice struggles
To say words of old
There is much to say
In languages of yesterdays
A grammar of coincidence
A small voice rumbles
To shout words gone cold
Moments make letters
Like snowflakes in winter
A grammar of incidents
-Thomas Typewriter
Fearful of no voice, I shout.
Transgression is the obsession,
bringing the words into play.
I should focus on the positive,
ignoring those things born from doubt.
But then what would I say?
My depths are unknown to me.
Without all of those causatives,
I am quiet. I am without.
A coward.
And now for a closer view of some of the details…
Thomas Typewriter 
You must be logged in to post a comment.