Music is that other thing.
And God saw that it was good/ and caused it
To make all kinds of feelings and bring new words/ to spit from your mouth/
that nowadays spit from your fingers.
Your keyboard has all the unwritten answers and knows all your business because you may delete delete, but it remembers every stroke you strike.
Once you strike a letter and conjure a word and make some sentences and once you think about them and then you don’t like them and you delete them/
that keyboard hoards and hoards/ ghosts of things past.
Life is like a keyboard /it hoards your thoughts and inveigles your fingers, your soul/ to “carry on” like a mad woman /and then you think you can just decide to delete?
No/ You may as well speak the only language you know/your God-given language/
From your heart through your fingers and perhaps your lips.
Language is your life.