Sunday, November 14, 2010

Overwritten at Table 1

from 364


It’s ridiculous, the way they
fall at their feet, all smile and malarkey,
smuggling post-its, darkly,
across the simian wasteland of
the campus green,

these wastroids of the neargone age,
their minds, once upon a time, would have
been opened,
by ideas, ideas that crept in and
unlocked the door,

no more
quoth the raven atop my chamber door,

these ideas that exist not forevermore are
locked away inside the paper, inside the
paper, which is held together between
two blocks of board, cardboard mostly
(95% recycled, in some select cases)
and these ideas
will not yet again see the light of

until the electric companies are overthrown
and all the batteries die,
and we are relegated back
to the
Age of Enlightenment,

tossed aside, into the ditches of
the Renaissance, back into
the monastaries of ancient Gaul
and sister Hibernia,

where the scrolls were written,
and we learn, we finally learn,

we learn

to read again.

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