“Teh” E’ry time I type up a poem Of moored and sandy thoughts My fingers dance on loan And renegades they be, type a peculiar word—”teh” From where is this word Of homeward thoughts? to free said convicts from out their prison stick. Is a sign of my aging years of arthritic fingers stumbling in the Ben Hur of typists, whose Roman numerals are bloated. Or is it born of the unconscious— in that loom of the mind, where weaves an Arachne able, entangling thoughts in their way. Is