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communication works only to the degree
that connections are made: networks sending
requests, packets, closures--
signs indicating intelligent life
    out there:
no node is a lonely outpost,
every route is accessible:
you only need to find it.
despite well-meaning attempts
to establish relations, the surfer
has lost his metaphoricity--
    slouched at his workstation in bodysuit,
he clutches his surfboard in fear.
having the world at your fingertips
comes at the cost of isolation:
keys tapping, eyes dancing (on the verge of tears),
a radio blasting. in cyberspace,
    no one can hear you weep.
here's to the pleasures of instantaneous access.
a wealth of information awaits.

having little to say i had substituted
wonderful glitz; i hid in the shelter
of fine design.
    funny how those of us
intent on the best pages inevitably revert
to the simplest modes of communication
in hopes of saying more than we did:
gone the long lists the large graphics
the erotic urge of pretty logos.
instead of ancillary lists and announcements
    (twenty-one. shoe size ten.
    five feet eight inches. 
    fridge contents: spring water, 
    a can of Sprite, some old salsa.
    habits: walking, stumbling,
    crashing along.)
i should be casting fish into the nets
of the world: supplying
    life as we would have it.
what is this form of hypertext but monuments
to ourselves, the supreme joy
of links to links to links--
the infinitude of browsing lives
    in colorful convenience...
dazzle, you stupid tag, you witless icon,
    you mongrel of an autobiography.
dazzle with your weak improvisations.

oh i triumph on single dimensions only--
never more than a plane of perfection 
    at once and then only for a moment.
my hair is in good shape. i don't exercise but
walk frequently, am excitable. smoking cigarettes
is my main pasttime, staring off
    and waking, sometimes even to the point
of awareness. but such luxuries fail
to suit my tastes-- i prefer monotone,
droning causality, the pipelines
of average men: i can pretend:
reconciliation is a business becoming 
     a life, paid overtime spent
crunching numbers to balance sheets of days,
meals, train rides. beguiled remembrances.
"i had a heart once too": such a perfect line:
     too good to be true but sentimental enough
for a dull conversation. the lights go off,
the stage is lit, poise creates atmosphere
     but ah, really,
who cares...

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