There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
Most of the people I typed for at last year’s Artisanal LA event have blurred together in memory. Even still, there is one fellow I have no intention of ever forgetting. He came over with a friend. She wandered off to take pictures as he and I began to talk. At first, we did the basic Typewriter Poetry dance. He asked about the project, I answered with my usual bases covered. Soon, something shifted. He sat down on the floor. I halted my work on another person’s poem. We dove into our hitchhiking and traveling stories; afterward, he shared his love of robotics and electronics with me.
Originally Posted: October 19th, 2011Updated: January 4th, 2020prompt: “Suicide.” This prompt has been in my queue for quite some time. The poem didn’t come to me until a few weeks ago, when I was asked by an extremely apathetic and disengaging medical “professional” whether or not I had ever considered suicide. I think she just …