Another train of thought derailed,
the spew of neural passengers
a symptom of emotion sickness,
chaos kills cognition
an excess all too easy to express.

We catch the headlines,
ride the metaphor of mime
getting off on getting on
the virtual network, a rival
time is of the essence
bending to perpetual pubescence.

Disconnected sleepers
laid to rest or losing track
of signal-ciphered rhythms;
our dreams converge
at Ponzo's pointlessness.

Identity, the holy grail
attained by going off the rails
and casualties fall and rise
though numbers lose significance
in figure-ground transliterations
destinations razed before our eyes.

Well, what the fuck
we'll never meet
and crashes have no consequence;
the details wiped, the lines redrawn
a graphic interchangeling born.

12/19/2009

Posted on 12/19/2009
Copyright © 2024 Laura Doom