matchbook underfoot: a letter to tom
Posted: September 12th, 2007, 11:28 am
dear thomas pynchon,
can i have the key
to my brain?
i lost my copy.
things have been a little
off kilter.
for instance,
there's a matchbook
under one of the feet
of this typewriter
to keep from imbalanced clunking
that inhibits word-machine operation.
& i managed to drill
a couple holes in the ribbon
that will snag later on.
really,
it's time for a new ribbon.
&
there's a subtle
drive sprocket tooth issue
that means the ribbon
turns in only one direction
& you have to wind it back
by hand.
it's when you forget
to switch
the drive direction back
that you cut holes
in the old silk ribbon
&
those holes
serve as snags
when yr just trying to type
trying to work a word out
edgewise
&
you don't have the time
to watch what yr doing
in the interest of words.
a river of forgetfulness
winds round & through
like a prank
of a long string
tangled round & through
a crowd of people
or a stand of trees
in the dark.
the matchbook wasnt necessary
the last time
i used this machine.
this is a different surface
but it is a table
arent those usually flat?
i've turned the machine over
to examine its seemly underbelly.
the ancient cracked rubber feet
show no change.
they are splayed
like an unshod horse-hoof.
they are still solid;
stuck together despite the cracks.
i rely on a matchbook's measure
to write a level letter.
it's a beautiful morning.
not in the realm
of yesterday's clouds.
in cracked feet
&
paper treasure,
a
can i have the key
to my brain?
i lost my copy.
things have been a little
off kilter.
for instance,
there's a matchbook
under one of the feet
of this typewriter
to keep from imbalanced clunking
that inhibits word-machine operation.
& i managed to drill
a couple holes in the ribbon
that will snag later on.
really,
it's time for a new ribbon.
&
there's a subtle
drive sprocket tooth issue
that means the ribbon
turns in only one direction
& you have to wind it back
by hand.
it's when you forget
to switch
the drive direction back
that you cut holes
in the old silk ribbon
&
those holes
serve as snags
when yr just trying to type
trying to work a word out
edgewise
&
you don't have the time
to watch what yr doing
in the interest of words.
a river of forgetfulness
winds round & through
like a prank
of a long string
tangled round & through
a crowd of people
or a stand of trees
in the dark.
the matchbook wasnt necessary
the last time
i used this machine.
this is a different surface
but it is a table
arent those usually flat?
i've turned the machine over
to examine its seemly underbelly.
the ancient cracked rubber feet
show no change.
they are splayed
like an unshod horse-hoof.
they are still solid;
stuck together despite the cracks.
i rely on a matchbook's measure
to write a level letter.
it's a beautiful morning.
not in the realm
of yesterday's clouds.
in cracked feet
&
paper treasure,
a