Poetry by keyboard?
Paper and pen. Or pencil perhaps.
It just happened more that way.
Little scraps-tucked in a pocket.

Best forgotten? Maybe.
Like the memory jolt that birthed them.
Yes. Indeed. There it is again.
Actions fed by yesterdays.
Yesterday's what? Death.

Yet now the key click?
The now moment is the live one
Invaded by a dead past.
Let it rest. {enter}