A social site for poets in Sydney.
The World Wide Web has me snared, funnelled, sucked me in
And all I can do is skim, ride this body board,
and rise on the nano-moment.
For I have shelved my brain, next to Britannica. Britannica.
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.
I 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
There’s no laptop on this desolate isle.
The corner store is a cave full of orangatangs
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.