Marsiya of an Ottoman typewriter.

To think Thy 'I' could be typed by a key stroke crude
& with a donkey kick, the machine would draw blood

From a but foolscap mirror of Ibn Masud

Whose foot is heavier than Mount Uhud

Is to know, Kufa, the scandal of thy script

Fidelity's zallakah where Zuleikha slipped

 No Joseph, her Joseph- No! not until

Father Jacob has looked his fill

As to Marsyas, would be, an Apollonian apology

Marsiya, too, is its own motivic cohomology

Of Category and Type, Writing so riven 

 Witnesses, alas!, break its but ribbon