about the old eternal headspace war

they call them helpful arms but all they are
are polyurethane tentacles
Formed to stick on no such thing as a hand,
formed instead to tattle to the curt nurse
whose head is screwed on her just the way her
instruction manual instructs coldly
which is so the rivets that bolt her neck
may never retire with a worry
about rust, as long as the insolent
rebels in the back row bring no more fries
or condiment packets from the lunchroom.
Listen. The tentacles are humorless.

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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