When F Left the Alphabet

When F left the alphabet albeit temporarily
I got the results of my test, proving
I’m autistic, an high-functioning autist.
My brother then set up a recording studio
in the posh, coffee-cake dining room, whose
digital buttons and layers and codes even
entered my dreams at night after a while.
I recorded many numbers old and new...
when Baxter the dog walks on the laptop
funny things come out, like the names
of electronica numbers; and the sound
of typing can be used as percussion in
non-metred Sound Art, I also found.
There was even brief relief from voices,
‘onjects,’ quavers, syllabubbles, sonic
machinations at the periphery of sound, 
while I faced the music, while I recorded.
Still, I came back to the silence of the
blank page where I might hang life like a coat
in a primary school cloak room, just because.
I wanted to say any word can be spelled in
any way, any guitar solo played any way,
that all discipline boundaries have dissolved,
all the subjects become one thing, life,
whereupon one might turn to philosophy…
but now everything has returned to normal and
I am glad for while F had left the alphabet
there was no longer any word for Freedom.
So to try and write in wrinkled and crinkly
Christmas wrapping paper becomes a good
game all over again, and food for thought
a priority, and the translation of feelings. 

John F.B. Tucker
 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, John F.B. Tucker would be pleased to hear them.