the quickest
blip of a thought,
as my
trusty right hand
thrust—the long dangly black
tail
of an offbrand mouse,
head-
long,
and madcap—
into my
white plastic chrome-
book's
last open usb slot—for the inane twofold
purpose
of—scouring
up and
down to the
discrete
titillating ticks
of a slinky little jogwheel—and of course,
of right-
clicking—
without any need
for ctrl.
as my
trusty right hand
thrust—the long dangly black
tail
of an offbrand mouse,
head-
long,
and madcap—
into my
white plastic chrome-
book's
last open usb slot—for the inane twofold
purpose
of—scouring
up and
down to the
discrete
titillating ticks
of a slinky little jogwheel—and of course,
of right-
clicking—
without any need
for ctrl.
