I like the rush of tumblewords,
Slipping through my fingers
Like warm grains of sound.
Spilling, spelling, pulling me into the screen,
Into an alternate reality.

A world of letters and words,
Shaping thoughts, feelings, concepts.
Hiding behind vocabulary,
I can create myself; What I say
And what I don’t
What I type, clickety clackety tap.

Building myself out of alphabet:
A statement of likes precariously perched
On top of a pile of misspelled words;
A ‘we’ somewhere having fallen off,
Being matter-of-factly replaced with an ‘I’;
A dangling piece of text, meaningless,
loaded with hidden possibilities
A word game of the most challenging sorts.

And behind it all, a Meccano Maniac,
Is me with my rush of tumblewords.

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