Ode to Typewriters! Prévert. You?

i want it to click.
decisive rhythms.
tick, tack! tickity, tack, tack.
they are sounds of security.
of beginings. and endings
in the rings! of new lines.
if only life was that simple.
as to pressing buttons...
would actually make yourself understood.
you'll find clarity in the imprint of ink.
that slaps the page with a thwack.
I dont know about you,
but I'm not that simple.
my text is not counts of characters!
only grownups like to count!
just as children like to love!
and i like to watch the ink flow out,
so fluid like a dance across my heart-wings,
bringing red feeling along the way,
i weave my hearts desires for you,
for us, and the cold of october.
the chilling thrill of maturity,
the moments bleed into days,
and the numbers melt like candles.
with my pen in hand all things definite.
denature into songs, humming...
complicated harmonies of smoke,
words become ballets!
and reading books is trivial,
without the words to read!
you may feel bustled, lost in a mess.
but its my beautiful mess.
i feel at home, om, my friend.
no stops and starts and traffic or machines.
just you and the songbird.
me and the crumbling walls.
of the definity that falls
like the roman decay.
or the stamp upon the page
a rhythm of freedom!
tack, tack, tickity! tack, tick.
theses are sounds of revolution!
I dont know about you,
but its exhillerating.
to see the simplicity,
of the last melted word,
thwang upon the page.
followed by a,

question mark...