1.
my computer makes these sounds at 3AM
like it’s trying to tell me something
important
about how lonely satellites must be
always orbiting
never touching
just like us in the suburbs
sometimes i think the dial-up noise
is actually the sound of machines
trying to remember how to cry

2.

in the mall food court everyone’s face
is lit up blue from their nokia screens
like they’re drowning in digital oceans

s
i
n
k
i
n
g
slower than the loading bar
on my gateway
2k
when i try to download
happiness.exe
[file not found]

3.

dear AIM buddy list :
i am always “away”
even when i’m here
because here isn’t
anywhere anymore
status: contemplating how
the Best Buy sign
looks like god’s
blue tears at 2AM
when ohio feels
like a loading screen
that never finishes

4.

hey mrs henderson:
sorry this isn’t a normal poem
with trees and flowers and stuff
but have you noticed how
the computer lab feels more alive
than the actual world sometimes?
like maybe we’re all just
background processes
running in the suburbs
waiting for something
to ctrl+alt+delete us
into real life

5.

my friend marcus says
this is just teen angst
but i think it’s more like
system32.dll is corrupted
and nobody knows how to
fix what’s breaking
inside the machine
inside my head
inside america

6.

every night i watch
the cursor blink
like a digital heartbeat
wondering if computers
dream of electric kids
sitting in dark rooms
trying to write their way
out of suburban firewalls

7.

mom keeps asking why
i can’t write “normal” things
like the other kids
but normal broke
when the millennium bug
didn’t end the world
and we all had to keep
pretending everything
was still working

8.

this is what it feels like:
static in my veins
code in my dreams
error messages
where my thoughts
should be
and maybe that’s okay
maybe we’re all just
learning to speak
in ones and zeros
because human languages
can’t contain what it means
to grow up digital

9.

so yeah this is why
i write like this
all fragmented and weird
because that’s how
the world comes in now:
through screens
through wires
through the gaps
between real
and virtual

10.

p.s. to whoever finds this
on the school network:
please don’t tell
mrs henderson
that instead of
analyzing poetry
i’ve been trying
to debug my soul

[END OF FILE]
[Last modified: 08/15/2001 2:37 AM]