what else for paperless poetry?
sure CDs but it’s the same thing
(Amazon’s got it all
why ain’t cha give ’em a little Visa call?)
cutting & pasting what ya find on the string
(takin’ in fresh sheets off the line
Donna Reed smiling clothespins
spit ’em out in my hand darlin’)
know what would be way cool?
jerking a e-poetry termpaper off the net
& shootin’ it over to a distance ed English class
I got Cyrano De Bergerac from Hong Kong
http://www.cheathouse.com/
but it’s no good
English teachers are too far behind the times
know what a Northstar Cadillac System is?
me neither / but we heard it on TV
(you could look it up on Infoseek
go ’head / give it a try
might be extra credit in it
we’ll all wait right here)
sounds cool
not just a pencil in your pocket
but a big ol’ weapons system
trust me / systems are the goin’ thing
same deal with e-poetry Lonny
it’s the "e" that connects
a kilobyte better than plain vanilla
more sophisticated & downtown Dallas
wanna do a scoop?
E-poem: six
okay Donny
say I browse over to Infoseek
& click an e-poem down the wire
& doc it & print it
maybe on an ancient wheezin’ dot matrix machine
six pins hammerin’ braille like a physicked woodpecker
& maybe I copy it again by pencil
what I what ta know
is it still a e-poem?
Jeez medieval scholastics on the theophanic wire
does the blood of the lamb intravenous drip?
how many bytes to make ya saved?
Heloise says:
how about hypertext Latin?
conjured across?
& what about where the magic happens?
the environment / the browser & the OS
(that’s operating system
what makes your machine alive
in case some of you was wonderin’ what a OS is
& is still lingerin’ about the boat with Charon
cuz ya ain’t got a copper penny in your mouth
cuz ya spent it ta ride the calliope
oh yeah / you’ll be askin’ later
ISP is a internet
service provider
what gives ya wire & www
now ya zipped & ready to ride?)
you in cyberspace or Redmond or just your bedroom?
what happens when ya click?
know Budweiser frogs?
what if ya slam down Bud frogs?
(I could give you the url
but you don’t really want ’em
disk clutter & you’d wantta defrag
before the next gas station)
got frogs?
no
cuz they’re on TV
ya got to be processin’ TV through your head
to get frogs talkin’
now here comes a dispensation:
VCR is okay cuz it’s still on TV
same thing with e-poetry
it’s got to click & jump on the wire
not just mumble in your mouth & rattle in your head
(if you’d spit that Indian head penny out maybe ya could
talk)
wanna do a bud Lonny?
E-poem: seven
Donny
ya know Bubbles’ granddad Duane
over at Thalia?
in the oil bidness all his skinny life
Thalia
yeah & we ride the Calliope
it’s always amusing in Texas
ol’ geezer bought a carbon fiber bike
(he’d a got a sight better deal second hand
rec.marketplace.bicycles)
wobbles ’round in day-glow jockey silks
Bubbles said a head doctor made him do it
cuz he was depressed in pickup trucks
spokes & cranks & wheels
leave dad’s car in the garage
(is it a Oldsmobile?)
(course it’s a Oldsmobile
think it wuz a Toyota?)
leave the oil parked in the ground
a ritual of coasting to click on April balance
falling over on a machine
feelin’ as justified as an A in math
but it’s wafer thin & analoguey
quote ya chapter & verse:
"you’re just a little too attached to the linear principle"
nah it weren’t physics / it was Jacy
surprised some enterprisin’ pedestrian
don’t relieve Duane of his ride
suppose they will
soon as they find it costs five grand
ol’ Duane threatens ta wobble ta Egypt
believe that?
knowed Palestine wuz in Texas
no the for real Egypt
like Egypt Egypt with pyramids & mummies
adios & auf Wiedersehen
let that be a lesson to ya Lonny
what happens when ya ain’t gettin’ any
he’s too old
’sides he’s got a part-time whore over to Stingaree Courts
www Wichita Falls Gay-lee
gave her his dog Shorty
that dog’s been give around some
no I mean that’s what happens
when ya ain’t gettin’ wire
might as well huff a fancy bike to Egypt
pray to Allah on a rug
E-poem: eight
now this e-mail & all this spam
neo-Nazis on the net & wanna-be pederasts
& people you don’t know
wirin’ ya jokes & Darwin awards
half spaded under by copy sign shovels
<<<this fellow went to see a rabbi . . .>>
damn things look like stacks of bent license plates
at a dirt lot swap meet
(each packet a signal / a sign
for those with machines pitched to listen)
(sure ya ain’t just stringin’ me along now?)
& by the by
those numbers count ’xactly nothing
for an instance
which one is The Network State?
snowflakes nest silently on the roof
you don’t know why the cursor suddenly froze
stretch while it thinks to come back to life
gel bumps slow the carpal tunnel risk
delete the worry of embarrassment at work
learn to mouse through windows like a pro
in the privacy of your own home
is that professor video on the phone?
hello this is the professor
is your cursor blinking dear?
we’re on a delicate connection
you know the satellite is tilted a little out of line
solar flares are ungodly this time of year
do we have your Visa number?
now I’ll tell you a little secret
they put the main code writers in India
because they can pay ’em about a dollar a week
did you know they have dots on their forehead like telegraph?
you can’t send e-mail
because they’re phoneless
why? / well they don’t need ’em dear
they’re all prewired with those dots to telepathically connect
if you are interested
we have an advanced program
wireless connection: the alpha net
stay on the line dear
one of our operators will tell you all about it
way over there on the backside of the planet
modems ping & plink sitar music
but never connect
the process unlicensed & unphoned
E-poem: nine
unhinged
scrap code flaps in derelict wind
loose shingles wave on abandoned farms
sun-rotted strips of DNA unwind
the bio will-to-be there untwists
rain aches worry
failing to ask:
how far?
how long?
falling somewhere
dropped by gravity
in the grip of women
the cursor squeegees
windshield rubber squeaks
words dissolve stringless
liquid Jell-O without cartilage or syntax
no bone but time unwinds
Aristotle noticed
what can the life verb say?
a. a need
b. a habit
c. a pattern
d. a cache of temporary internet files
what is a separate thing?
(that part is a essay question friend
open your bluebook & begin
time’s almost up)
seti listens for
the transcendental ping
modem set for x-files imported
the machine can xerox the courage-to-be if
the truth is out there
the Rapture sure to arrive
the rest of us don’t ask what
saving karma now & then
replace the file?
flush the cache
E-poem: ten
Yahweh rumbles boom-box rap music
Y2K over MS.NBC
(not YK jelly
if you kids don’t behave
we’ll all go back to the classroom
& you can do arithmetic)
talk-radio TV commercially pauses
for an opalescent Buick to whisper by
on a wet street in a simulated sheen
Armageddon cartwheels Boeing out of the blue
(check the ticker: ba 35 & 3/8)
pan to Safeway & Home-Base
smoldering soot LA-looted
has Falwell weighed in?
you bet / like sure money / roll tape
"Y2K is God’s instrument to shake this nation"
shake / rattle & roll with guaranteed movers & shakers
in this CD collection available only on TV
hear Mother Ann Lee whisper:
"sacred women slumber dreamless in clean houses
Jesus bought a new dress for the prom"
the secret nation of Jaredites websited
(I know what a spell checker is
what’s a jar editor do?
answer: babble
& ya kin bet he ain’t worth a lick of salt
them’s bible jokes Slick
if ya wuz a Byelo-Baptist you’d get ’em instant
’stead of sittin’ there playin’ with twine)
$28 for the video: A Christian’s Guide to the Millennium Bug
pass it on
help OJ keep his kids
it’s a fund drive for a good cause
Tiddly Applewhite welcomes you to Heaven’s Gate
now let’s take a vote: is Tinky Winky queer?
you can’t get the good stuff in books
you need juice fresh
squeezed off the talkway
likely passed / poof
the OED claims "the dialogue poofed out & we stood eating cheese"
let’s take a moment to remember another life
(yeah like when stuff made sense
& ya could find the answer in a book
cuz ya had to stand in a straight line after lunch)
e-poems greased pre-Y2K
plump cop-clubs
pumped zucchini shiny green uncheesed
snoozing unmolested at the end of a withered copper vine
(’member those teeny Testor bottles of liquid money
ya got down at the hobby shop for a dime?
copper penny / gunmetal gray / airplane silver
solid metal liquefied in a fairy jar for the cold war
time parenthetically squeezed dreaming in between
Dnrer’s praying hands)
when the YKK nylon zipper split trackless
poof / another life unpeeled
"your local tailor can replace the zipper in your garment"
oh sure with Armageddon zooming on down like snow in June
& me worrying what to wear
to meet Jesus shivering buck naked
no I never intended to come here to Corpus
I had laid out matters otherwise in my mind
oh for an unjammed zipper!
that locks each tooth in it’s predestined block &
sector
E-poem: eleven
the dotgov boys down at the Texas School Book Depository
straighten their ties in the reflection of blank monitors
getting ready to download the latest lessons
Dick & Jane from the Go Network
all the way-cool back-to-school infotainment that really bytes
mom I need sticker-heads for my laptop
wanna put an Indian head on it
so I’ll know it’s mine
Big
Chief Tablet®
spray it red if you’ll unpolice a nozzle
yeah I know it’s school property
yeah don’t pet the persiankitty / I’ll get rabies
that stuff’s road-blocked & besides
we got AOL
the vice-principal administrating
on-line
the boys room unsniffed for dope smoke
because Mr. Kraft’s a wire cop now
sleuthing cool for the heady stuff
the bicycle seat is police evidence
doing the math for wire witchery
net nanny detention for cheerleaders
with those cherry little sweatered bumps
oooh Mr. Kraft your jay-peg is so slick
mom I need lunch money for e-trade deals
a bunch of us are going in on it
extra-credit
Mr. Jackson says we’re gonna learn-a-living
if we get the MS service pack by lunch
might be a quiz today on ikons
but only blue-birds have to read that boring old stuff
manuals & junk that won’t scroll
school’s getting totally like the mall
GWB is jetting to homeroom
well on the wire at least
("hello boys & girls
this is your new schoolbook
take good care of it
don’t put an Indian on it")
the idle fool is whipped at school
(whipped by theophanic wire
snipers scope beyond the link fence
playground camouflaged for see-me games
dropped-out until the bullet hits)
our king the good no man of blood
dealin’ out TI bento boxes for free
hope we crash into some neat games
everything is getting so cool at school
spinning electric web to learn a living
on the passenger’s only side of the metal detector
E-poem: twelve
Johnathan Edwards block mails:
Virtual Images of Divine Things
(The Language & Lessons of Nature Depraved)
to 8th grade male students / Calliope / Texas
(a virtual assembly)
you squirrelly little shits love to squeal & simper
& giggle
over piss & cowshit & readin’ Rabelais
when you can find Pantagruel polluting
the net
no I didn’t say panties
& I didn’t say Penthouse
anyway that’s good
about simperin’ & slidin’ in shit
because where you’re going
they’ll be semi loads unendin’
think of your mom slaughtered fresh dead
before you can get home from school
like somebody broke in & squeezed her neck
’til it flopped like a wrung chicken
pale / horrid / ghastly white
you know the plucked chicken look
stripped naked & snow white
cuz she’s a corpse & it don’t matter a damn
shoveled in the ground when it’s rainin’
putrefyin’ & rottin’ & the smell
would knock you down like a stick
eaten with worms & maggots all writhin’
she ain’t never gonna make your dinner again
’less it’s worm meatloaf you crave
if you little shits get AIDS
you’ll wish you could suck on those little maggoty worms
like they was cocktail straws
to slurp up putrefaction & liquid cowshit ’til you puke
& then you have to suck that back up ’til you puke again
then you have to suck that back up
get the idea? it ain’t Mountain Dew
use a damn rubber if you have to do it
now think of the result
kids screamin’ & kickin’ into the world
naked & filthy & in their blood
& in some kind of shitty white cheese & slime
(think we’re havin’ that for lunch)
cryin’ & impotent
a pollution of nature
just bawlin’ & pissin’ & screamin’ without a brain
until you want to choke the little shits
& when you do
you’ll be on Cops & the local news
& your only clothes will be orange overalls
& you got no mom to wash ’em
when you beshit ’em
cuz that’s how scared you’re gonna be
& I wish I was there to see it
you little shits
with your hands jammed in your jeans
diddlin’ & fingerin’ your own teeny worm
do you know that Christ became a worm?
crawlin’ ’round Egypt with whores & the IRS
would you lift a finger to click over there?
I’d love to slamp that snicker off your face
& I would too (for the love of Christ)
if I had the right software
do you little shits know
you are literally chockfull of shit?
take your biology class
man’s inwards are full of dung & filthiness
which is to denote what the inner man is
(& that includes your dad over in Dalhart)
sometimes the heart
sometimes the bowels
sometimes the veins
they’re all full of shit
spiritual corruption & abomination
as well as literal shit
believe me it stinks to high heaven
this world is all over dirty
specially down there in Texas
& the panhandle is worst
covered with that which tends to defile the feet
your streets are dirty & muddy & dribbled with shit
you little shits would hurl horse apples like baseballs
if you could collect ’em
& if I had the right software I’d smack you with one
right up side the head
right now
well just remember
you little shits is full of shit
& you are condemned to live in shit
even if you get away from Texas
& when you die you’ll liquefy into nothing but pure shit
ask your heathen biology teacher if it ain’t so
E-poem: thirteen
Donny
your dog get e-mail yet?
course / he’s usually on the rope
wolfs down Spam & Wolf Brand chili
through his bow-wow browser
everybody knows dogs hear higher than sound
he won’t mention e-mail but
ya know dogs are tuned to hear a secret life
mutts deal poker & Weimaraners choose suits
& then there’s poor Laika
whining in a jar
"let me down from up here"
got radar installed in their nose but
they got too much sense for e-mail
no mailman to taste
well Donny
it makes me cranky to see my little sister
get e-mail from Japan
with a little blinky mailbox flag flipping up
(like you-know-what)
(well think on it for a minute
give ya hint / it’s real dirty)
nekko kitties & rubber lipped blue catfishes screaming
"hey kid, you got mail slamming on the wire from Japan!"
she wants to be cyber.kdz
skipping with plastic planetary line
(probably Lonny means optic fiber cable
don’t cha think?
they don’t have that course yet at the community college)
I mean what sense does it make?
a thousand pound sumo jumping rope
break the damn ground
ain’t we still right here eatin’ dust & grit & mud
in the ol’ blowin’ panhandle
’stead of Lear-jetting around in the clouds?
shoot / if ya want to do that kind of thing
ya could collect stamps like normal
with camels & ol’ whiskery kings & Hitler
we had history back then
& not all these news channel chats
& fancy la-dee-da Japanese catfishes to catch
(yes Judy this is a fun
one because of the
dogs & blue catfishes & camels jumping rope
no I don’t have a Hitler stamp
that won’t be on the quiz)
E-poem: fourteen
Donny cruises into Circle-K on his Schwinn
to do small town lunch in the wind
his heavy balloon tire bomber
elbows plate glass idling
too senior to steal
show some respect
sit up straight
Donny nukes a bean burrito
& goes back to his ride
propped up for viewing
Donny scans the monitors
sipping canned Dr. Pepper
rolling parking lot pebbles under thin-soled Keds
as casually parked on his bomber
as the low-rider vatos down at the Sonic
everybody under control
heads-up display keeps a long Butterfinger
from launching out of a Polaris pearl button pocket
Donny captions life for the black-box:
"Donny does lunch sans
the blue suits"
tearing another plastic chili packet
he radars the endless lost sky
thinking it’s a glitch
how the Air Force hasn’t simulated it on-line
that prairie depth you itch to finger like time
& want to breaststroke through
because there’s no word to say it
18-wheelers lumber through
(probably DC-3s class
we’ll look at ’em later
on the History Channel)
rattling empty of cows
that were staring so scared
through drilled-out aluminum holes
wanting to ask & nobody would listen
what’s gonna happen in the very next second?
the mushroom cloud?
then where will I get e-mail & grass?
& where (for the love of God) am I going?
Donny pokes the burrito wrap into the Dr. Pepper can
grenades it into the scarred plastic recycle bin
empty bin / empty life
but not before
two points add to the score
Byelo-Baptists beat at the buzzer
Donny starts to wheel away
saying out loud to the missing cows
"just another day in paradise
Pantex didn’t make you dead"
(what would not those poor damned hopeless cows give
for one day’s opportunity such as you now enjoy
in the saddle of an old bomber
in a nowhere town
with a cloudless blue sky
while you hang by a slender alphabetic thread)
Donny is rolling off now
to see what spammed in under the radar
while he was lunching out
Donny Does E-mail is continued in the next issue of Amarillo Bay.