Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Written While on a Laptop Computer in a Coffee-house

so...sitting at my mokabes, copping wireless internet...in everyway i'm forced to accept the glories and right now failures of communication, every example where we try and extend it things get close to working, they don't work, they do not quite relate.
i came here because the cable outlet in my apartment is broke...and i was in the neighborhood, region, whatever...
i was in the neighborhood because i planned to meet my good friend michael at black bear bakery at around 3, work for a while, then catch a show by a talanted kid named ian fischer AKA Little Bobby D. What failed me was that I had a new class from 2-5. so fuck that... i went anyways...at about 5:30...black bear closes at 5...i thought michael might still be there cleaning up...my optimism bites me in the assbone.
so the poetry troup Get Born is partaking in a special St. Pats day reading at some place called the royale...i don't know what time the reading is...i stop by mokabes to cop some wireless internet and find out...i start writing in my notebook for a while first because...fuck you, i'm a writer, above all it's what i do...it's now 7...i get my fix of wireless...the reading starts at 4 and ends at...7.
but between then i did scribble some shit about, well...dudes and dudettes in coffeehouses on computers...

the computer
sucks my scrambled egg eyes out
like a small child at breakfast,
leaves their milky sockets dangling.
The computer
sucks my scrambled egg eyes out,
leaves their milky sockets dangling.
All these young soldiers
like a world war,
all those wonderful africans and western europeans
we lost em boyo!!
They got sucked into the vortex
it is tonguing them and swallowing,
they choke on its saliva
they choke on its sailiva
they choke
and won't ever be seen again.
Our Countries
still erect great stone monuments
to the young men
we lost to computers
in coffee-houses.

Those foot-soldiers
slaughtered like cats in a famine
are getting eaten by the mouse.
Those four-star generals
are choking on their humidors.
The Screen it is so bright
the little aurora bourealis
steals the retinas
leaves them dirty
like undersides
of a pan
the yolk turned
to grizzled guts...
those young men and women...
not quite dying...
in front of computers in coffee-houses...
o not quite.

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