Total Pageviews

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Information Age Driftwood

The world wide web has me snared, funnelled, sucked me in
And all I can do is skim, ride this bodyboard,
And rise on the nano moment.
For I have shelved my brain next to Britannica. Britannia.
Another grounded ship, sails folded
Wings bent but fairy dust is in this twilight.

I can't remember, need not recall,
It's all on my hard drive,
That time when
That place so soft
I had a sensation of a pen in hand and a
Notebook that carved hieroglyph in me.

Old school beta-vid,Sunday non-committal church.
I'm a relic of the paper age.

In sleep I float on algae calm waters
On a pod without an I
Land on a shore without a fire,
See a hill that halts my view and I am longing
For that memory stick of morning dew, a sunset pew,
A concept of latte freshly brewed.

And I am bereft, where I left it all before,
On that shelf without a shore
My memory of you.
(Britannica. Britannia.)

There's no laptop on this desolate isle.
The corner store is a cave full of orangutans
And I am alone, alone and in shock.
Aching and burning for that simple
Sense of self,the whole me
Plumped with next door Brady Bunch comfort.

It's too late,
I'm adrift on a wireless tide
Remote and flailing footloose webbing.
And it's a fact that
When a vessel circles upon itself
There is no wake to ride.

No comments:

Post a Comment