My words, spewed on the screen in
millisecond flickerings,
glow greenly to my deceived eye.
Images surge through microchip gates,
huddle together in curves of magnetized spots
on tape and floppy disc
their shapes an illusion.
Come, my darlings,
I’ll rescue you.
At the flick of a key,
PRINT command cascades through
operating system, data manager, output handler.
Imprisoned metaphors escape binary cages,
clamor excitedly at the printer interface,
swirl into miraculous lines
of black words on white paper,
and, patient now,
wait to touch the reader’s heart.
Marian Peck
