A Dark Little Hamlet

The dark keyboard.
It’s been making a show of clicking.
The man in the tragedy mask writing his biography,
Wearing a foil hat to keep the aliens
From peeking at his thoughts.

The dark screen. How like a dead man’s dreams,
How like god’s viewfinder.
It’s dark in the room too. How symbolic,
How existential.
Perhaps the angel of death cut the power,

Has the house surrounded?
The disk drive is spinning, saving something.
The window glass distorts the moon, the streetlamp.
The world’s lottery that dark night,
Close captioned for the deaf and dumb.