I Am Made As A Typo

A Poem

My Photo

Sometimes I wonder if erasing me
like a typo is the way it’s meant to be.
That my words I say jumble together
spell check becomes a fatal flaw
destined for lips swollen
with the lack of vocal variety
my cords singing to the tune
of words forming into each other
making new destinations
for the travel of my letters
to be divided and separated
after the fact and isn’t it life
to have one typo provide
a different narrative
for us to live by?