Love Sonnet: Believing Part of Almost All I Say

It was a day that licked envelope flaps.
My hundred-roll of stamps solidified.
So much for communication. Is there perhaps
a self-improving technology? I tried
storing my writing things in the freezer (a tip
from the Anxiety Editor). All stuck
in a half-twist endless plane, a Moebius strip
flypaper logo of perpetual guck.

Since I was glued to my desk, I tried to write.
What might it not be like to have something to say?
In another continuum I stayed up all night
inventing a language I cannot read today.
But is time legible? I think of you.
No message. No medium. But still something to do.