With abated breath
I waith thy return
Pressing my eyes moist
To the 'Windows' desktop,
Static and dry of imprint
Roving futility around,
Repeatedly I dab my fingers
To the dead bakelite keys
A non-conductor;
Dull and full of slothing dark
Noiseless to any hues
and barren of any use
Cul-de-sac border my keys;
Bigger than my thoughts
'Delete' key rules, one and half footed land!
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