February 8, 2004

  • Dangled then entangled
    And only the internet to blame.
    But I want to make love in my extranet world.


    Though verse should issue from me like a devil sprouting horns,
    The perverse posture of having much too much to say
    Has allowed the cat to catch my tongue.


    Dats whide I’md tawkin like dis.


    So I’ve opted not to run today (I’ve run out of time)
    But merely sit in my vehicle, drink a beer,
    And stare at the nude woman ghost standing at my passenger door,
    Waiting for me to let her in. 
    I point my finger at her and chastise:
    “Without a body, there’s no sin.”
    “No sin?” she mouths most silently, “No sin?”
    Her eyes are tortured, lost, confused.
    “I’m an alien deathmonger from the star called Satellite,”  I lie.
    “I’m on a mission to rematrix the genome of disbelief.  So sorry I can’t let you in.”
    “Oh,” no voice says, with just lips moving, and then she turns away.
    “Nice tits for a ghost, by the way…” I call out to her fading phantasm.
    *poof*
    Flesh and blood, baby. Flesh and blood.

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