The Failures’ Union

bolt your new things down to the floor, you won’t be going anywhere anymore, she’ll be my “west of rome,” and i’ll be her voice on the telephone, what were the words to your eulogy?, (keys won’t cut your fingers anymore) farewell, farewell, to the jagged keys, farewell, farewell, to the typist, farewell, farewell, to the wounded knee, farewell, farewell, to the typist, farewell, farewell, to the one-step week, farewell, farewell, to the typist in me.