Twitching Thumbs

The handphone is a godsend
And twitching thumbs create galaxies –
That’s where our future lies.

Twitching, itching thumbs as if
Bitten by a mosquito.
Itching and writhing

In baby-soft skin.
A blemish; a birthmark –
Irreversible.

Those irresistible metallic keys
Pave the hallways
With ash-black letters.

And they flutter from screen to
Screen; pupil to pupil,
The mysterious invisibles that connect minds.

The blackness never stops.