XXXI.
At the Mercy of Our Software.

64.
Scribbling into Dreamweaver directly, obviating the scratch of the pen,
The snub of erasure, the query of other's eyes, the biding sigh;

With one anticssnap these foolish lines line up, queued into their own firmament
And lie ionospherically, crackling flat in a cold electric dark.

On Earth, the billions of stroking keys worldwide may follow on,
May find them, may relight them in the glow of turbid, morbid mindless minds,
As one kindred body
Hooped into the quorum, skeinlike
Gathered, stroking the fulsome beings who inhabit the worlds between the lines,
Rainbow aphids of the arid gulches
Known well in the weft of woven dreams.

F5.