Internet Poetry

I can find a new cursor for my computer, rent a Toyota hybrid, or read poetry. The internet’s vast boundaries are ever expanding like the universe and looking through my windows I see only a glimpse.

My reality can be put for sale on craiglist, I can count on Google to find me answers without questions, and music will invade myspace in a bombardment of sounds.

Ads on how to lose weight will be in the corner of my friend’s page, and while waiting for things to load I will wonder why we call them webpages when they cannot be turned over like books and cannot be recycled like newsprint (Why is the news no longer printed?). I crumple my thoughts before sending them to the recycle bin - why is there no trash can on my computer when half of the content is spam anyway?

Pop ups dot my computer screen like ladybugs on leaves, but far less beautiful and not at all interesting to me.

Start in the lower left and explore the finite space and infinite possibilities. Down on the right numbers remind you of the time, your battery life, and keep you up to date with updates you don’t want.

I curse on occasion but my cursor was never a concern, and I am not interested in renting a car. Distractions multiply until finally I click the computer closed, and put my nose in a book. Limited to the width of it’s spine, there’s something divine in the simplicity of sitting with just a book and me.