each night

you and I work to feed our laptops. in return, we get shovel-loads of fuzz and light from their Sauron-eyes. we take trivia away and put our souls in. they blink as we back them up. we snack. the temperature drops. midnight slips by, you turn the tennis on and later, I won’t be able to dream.

my wrist is a bear
on a mouse
it clicks and aches