a small collection of poems
A Poem for the Man who Exclaimed “Ta-Da!”
Hail TimBL, full of naivety,
Our larger imaginary documentation system is with thee.
L337 art thou among plebs,
and L337 is the fruit of thy loom,
Aaron Schwartz.
Holy hypertext, brother of CSS,
pray for us n00bs, now and at the hour of our 56kbps.
Alt-F4.
for Cesarea Tinajero
previously published by metatron
from a short distance, palabra
mistaken for tintinnabular, garbage trucks
mistaken for string sections, drunken wails
mistaken for porno scores, caterwauling
mistaken for light rain, domestic disputes
mistaken for Friends reruns, pop songs
mistaken for cicadas mating, aerodynamic sheet metal
mistaken for fjords, a fire escape
mistaken for nothing; a silent opportunity,
calescent breath up brick neck
elanian retreat
wipe surface, leave trace,
repleat
hours spent searching for sweet-smelling bench
to rest like a dirtdevil toying with urban tumbleweed
; we speak now through graphic tshirts
get picked up in the bike lane
while excitement slips through our fingers
while exposed bone flashes mild acquaintance
and gurgling, gurgling, we mimick a button fly
re-run garbled easy-speak, consonant and sly
cessation
forged or the bond fronts mutual
masked or the woman is vulnerable
denied or the want is punctual
limited or the tool fakes sober
exonerated slants a vague skyline