Deeply felt, an ache, as creativity, sucked into the black hole
of dead silicon chips and failed drives causes one more tear
to pool onto a foreign keyboard.

Shaking hands strike out a plea to the Gods, the electrons,
the copper pathways, hoping they'll fire once more.

If only pen and paper had seemed enough to capture my
thoughts, scattered across neurons and neuroses.

To recreate or to let fade, the choices before me, puzzling,
as I spend one more night cursing technology.