Frost cracks and sun scalds
The letters off the keyboard
It splits open
A mechanical inside
That ticks with the clock of endless gears
A screen cracks
Beneath the rage
Of a naked fist
And something blithe
Too many games this screen had seen
Tomorrow to be thrown
In the trash's heap
Sunlight scalds and snow will crack
The pieces of plastic
Making a mousepad
Knit together the many buttons
Each one a function
That fingers don't have
Take them off
Put them on
Keys of colors and characters more
Bevy than the mind can tell
Wear them like clothes or tap them to death
For this is the war
A cyber attack
And you the creator, consumer of clicks
