Poetry is likely best produced
By scratching away at parchment thick
Across creamy tan
Not xerox white
The corners curled not pressed flat and tight
With quill freshly dipped
In ink as black as night
However
This deviation distraction device
Is always by my side
Or in my pocket on a ride
Continuously within reach
To scroll and swipe and waste my time
Or tap away and write lines
True and deep
My thumbs pecking here and there
Rather than the usual fair
Of older tools full of analog texture and flair
Yet this thin thing can produce art
In the form of words trailing after each other
I’ve read on ways the different ways you write
Can interact with your brain
In different ways
But as for me, a tool is a tool
And while it’s true handwritten notes
Stick in my mind with thicker strokes
To compose upon a glowing screen
With dancing tips of fat fingers flying
Is lovely in the way its speed
Just keeps up with the words
Flying from my mind
To the muscles in my hands
To the symbols made of pixels
On my pocket notebook sized
Computer of a popular brand