Computers

If you had blood instead of electricity,

a heart instead of a microchip,

a brain instead of a motherboard.

I might understand.

If there was something beating

within the depths of that hard plastic...

I would be all over it,

trying to find the source of it.

Why does it move?

Even words are kind.

They let you know their intentions.

There is room to err and make stuff up.

There are no wrong words to cut,

that might make a poem blow up in your face.

Flow like water from the tongue.

Wrap around you safe and warm and held.

But computers...

bite with warning windows.

Popping up out of control.

Infecting you with a slow,
irritating poison.
Halting the brain, speeding the

heart of frustration.