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
Snap
The clock hands overreach
The moment changes
I am a broken thing am I
Out-of-sequence sunsets
Darkness summons double-agents
Surrounded on all sides
I cry. I curse. I crawl.
But
I continue. I channel. I conduct.
Silver friends mist, what is your face
I am not alone am I
Bless you music
Always by my side
Louder. Faster. Jubilant.
Verse chorus verse shields me
Melody steadies me
Rhythm propels me
I am a glorious motion am I
-Thomas Typewriter
Life as a cloud of steam
A puff
A vapor
Sliding past my fingers regardless of grip
Tighter fingers
Softer fists
Unconcerned participation
Concentrated efforts
Leaving behind not the larger
A small beading of wetness
A fleeting heat
Leaving behind a mirror with no reflection
-by Thomas Typewriter
It is a shame we can not plant our emotions in the ground
Like a seed, press them away and down
Let the world deal with watering and nurturing our feelings
We are poor caretakers of the self
We’ll return when the flowers bloom
To smell that which is sweet
And that which is scoured
_by Thomas Typewriter
The smallest moments are the largest doorways
To step outside of oneself
It is a tight fit
Requiring effort and sensitivity
But worth the effort
As the scale of the world rotates
Away from timetables and deadlines
Past the horizons, equators, and tropics
_by Thomas Typewriter
Mice with lice
All that can die
Better they shine
No refunds for overtime
Larger than patience
All that can design
Move the conveyance
Mettle the temperance
Maze. Mustard. Rye.
-by Thomas Typewriter
The rock sighs heavy thoughts
Disappearing into the mud
Lower than known
Minerals in stone
Down, Down,
Past where the bones dissolve
And as the distance adds
Always failing
To realize
The gravity of the situation
-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
In every action
In every choice
I am unsure
I’ll collapse
Folding in on yourself, Supernova in reverse
In every thought
In every feeling
I am unsure
I’ll collapse
-Thomas Typewriter
Thomas Typewriter 
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