the clang
of it,
the inky ribbon, the stuck keys.
the click
clack
of the rattling metal
parts.
i miss the way
it
moved,
the way it looked.
the weight of it,
the conceit of it.
the sound the bell made
when it came
to the end of a sentence.
i miss
the way it made you feel
when you sat down in front
of it
and rolled a clean
sheet of paper into its
thirsty mouth.
anything was possible with
this typewriter.
anything.
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