Smudges Trudge
One by one,
ants
come
crawling
out
from
their
keyboard
catacombs
to form a spilled line, imperfectly invented to invite their brothers.
Two by two,
ants dance
in haste
to escape
quirky QWERTY,
unconscious hills
of me.
Ant feet
trudge smudges
solemnly backwards
afraid of
being burned
leaving only
magnified magma.
Tiny legs burned away
leave undeleted marks
curiously curated.
Welcome to the picnic,
no longer blank.
If you look closely
they're still dancing,
my shadow feast
of phantom ants.
Crumbs for thought.