I accidentally spooled the typewriter ribbon upside down. Black is now red and red is now fire. Sort of like my head always trying to pierce my heart. Back to back, up to you, side to side yearning for you. I wonder whose fingers touched these keys before mine, whose thoughts stained the discarded ribbon a single sentence at a time? Buried deep in there, the old ink speaks history, secrets etched into the fabric of dried up soul. It’s like magic, I might think. I may never know all the mysteries to all the answers of all the questions that cry out except in that when these fingers touch as theirs the nickel brimmed keys we both have pressed one finger each line slithering in time wading through thoughts that sing or smile, swim or sink. I find a little more of the unknown each day and that makes ocean waves crash inside me.