Ode to an Olympian DeLuxe Typewriter
(my first time using a typewriter)

DeLuxe.
Not like her diamond earrings
or red stilettos
rather the
click
click
click click
of letters tap dancing
rain pitter-pattering
in-twothree
out-twothree
You're RICH you see!
And that's capital letters RICH, for your Olympian style stories.

--a commentary on March 7 post-

The point then, is that there isn't one.

She pays her rent in quarters, while I'm losing dollar bills.
Loyal to life, though, from where I am I can't tell why.

Systems always fail us. It's a joke
that we still systematically believe in
to move through one day to the next.

Assigning value
because it makes something worth having;
ya' know, valuable.

Human connections are the most necessary part of life, but at what point
is it just a self-indulgent assumption of personal value to assign any value to
me nodding my head at her as I walk past her on the street.

What happens when there are no somethings to ascribe value to?
To draw a line from and match to calculated quantities in the right hand column?

Does value cease to be?
No, desists.

I accidentally stumbled into her
home as she was putting away the blankets.

But she didn't mind me. Or my dog.
Or the scores of others accidentally
crossing her porch that morning.

Perhaps she was just passing through herself.

But as she stepped outside to tend
to her garden of sidewalk cracks I knew
that she was paying rent in quarters for
a home she'll never own. 

We fell in love for the night
with an end so certain it couldn't scare us.

Two kindergarten children we dove into each other's lives,
interrogated without fear and built overlapping worlds.

Glistening fireflies taught us the fleeting nature of time.
We saw the beauty in a second, and recorded each precious one.

Thunder clapping electricity jumping.
I was alive again, because of him.