blog of poet, leah umansky

There was a day when type had weight. A kingdom of gold.

Their arrival was timely

                and untimely. 

The once tangible then got                          casted.

Roles became electronic and chained. 

Time ribboned-up and weight became                    light.

It involved stubborn effort.

                                                                Call it:   survival of the weighted.

*

Sometimes, one letter calls to another letter.

A small light flickers code: on, off, on, off. 

One letter urges another to be pressed                against another.

Paper trails are left behind.

                                                                       And ink blots.                    

                                                                                                                      And glimmerings…

*

It is a thing of beauty and a beauteous thing. 

There will always be a call.

Touch means its real, right?

[WAIT!]                                                They are calling.

If a choice was made. I’d choose the aural.

© Umansky 2012