My Novel Escaped

The other day my novel
Escaped its bounds, fled
The scene of apparently
Confining Folders,
Placed rapidly by its Recent
Friends into the trash,
From which it leapt
Like Christ on Easter Sunday
Fully formed onto the desk,
Its cohorts of hoplites
Caught between histories
Of text and spread like butter
On the impassive screen,
Receding Cantor sets of files
Copied ad infinitum
In the mirror of my Apple’s eye,
Endless rows of pages stacked
Sheaf on sheaf until all sense
Of usefulness, of dates and titles
Lay fallen on the pixelated field,
The pages slithering between
Neat piles and Armageddon
On the inundated computer screen,
As my labyrinthine circuits bloom
Double-crossed by their own loom.

January 24th, 2026, Siena