I’m sorry,  Allen—
I need to feel the rhythm
like pounding on keys.

What does it matter if I create a sentence, or fracture line breaks?

My fingers still plunk
at the corner of my desk
so I don’t lose count.

Words, like intervals, sing across the page in time with heart’s metronome.

With heart’s metronome,
sing across the page in time,
words—like intervals.

So I don’t lose count, at the corner of my desk, my fingers still plunk.

Fracturing line breaks,
or creating a sentence,
what does it matter?

Like pounding on keys, I need to feel the rhythm, Allen—I’m sorry.