I’m a word factory

Belching forth black

Into this digital aether

Polluting the endless net

Forging syllable after syllable

Like hot bullets for the war

I can see them fly away

Following phosphorous trails

Like white lasers through the target

It’s an imperative

It’s a necessity

It’s a kind of violence

To pour out these half formed ideas

Like hot breath on an ice cold day

And watch the sail far and away