remember the loneliness, the madness, the astonishing regularity with which
the dawn of new crippling incessant vultures
would plick and pluck at the brain –
the hacks yuk it up - whisper your own demise behind your back
and stare blankly at you when you would look –
and upon the odd-chance you caught one of them attempting
to usurp your soul
they would call you nuts
and call it a day.
well now, he’s wheelin’ and dealin in the free-fornow world thus far...ain’t he, captain?
polished men in alien suits pretending nothing is going on
subliminally – in the
other circuit just your best interests at interest
and if you don’t pay, that’s ok
because they’ll just take away something you
do not care about anyway – (I shall not mention it here, they might be listening in)
but I think you and I both know what we are talking about...and if you don’t, then you are not in the
“know” nor in the “right”
but you just might be “up shit creek”,
might that not be a good tourist attraction?
“Up shit creek” – check it now, before the dam bursts and shit creek becomes shit river.
“fly fishing on shit creek” and other poems, O now that’s a title with style.
too bad that
‘s all I got.
a man of titles and nothing else –
as an aside:
I read about how google mail offers “death” services in case you die, and you wish to not have a derelict, ghost account floating about cyberspace rudderless and captainless – so you can set it so after a certain amount of time inactive the account will terminate (assume you are no longer among the living) and offer an electric tombstone. “Sorry – the being you are attempting to reach is no longer in service.”
"he sent many a good email"
the world wide web forges on.