Tower of Babel

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And the earth was of one tongue, and of the same speech.
—Genesis 11:1

Fugitive hands relay distance that feet and pride cannot
scale, keys to happiness digitised. Over the hill from
pick-up joints, night owls audition beginnings. Coy
translations of interim moons wax at could-have-beens,
reality dresses in piquant shadows. In this city of closed
doors and energy-saving illuminations, statements of
common need transmit age, sex, location, to domains
of romance and security, thrifty exclamations of worth,
body-mass index, a sliding scale of external truths. Fear
of nothing more drives expeditions from the desert of
Lean Cuisine and single flannelette sheets to the heaven
of anywhere else. Born for higher things, a fair share
of paradise beyond the pale of suburban confinement.
Insert name from the address book to dislocate loneliness,
cyber skate assumed identities and resolutions. Pleasure
insinuates the screen with promises too bold for lips,
rapid interface conjugates hope but tall orders undermine
foundations. Handmaid anthropology auctions perfection
to all-comers, faith in vendor's terms contracts eyes. Build
me into your arms, into the forgetfulness of reflections. I can
be virtually what you want me to be, backspace, edit, delete.

 

 

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Existing comments

Great poem! Just the sort of poetry Winston Smith would have written. Strange how communication technologies fail to communicate, and how lack of communication, when turned into poetry, communicates. Poetry d Technology, 1-0.
Dan McGonnigal | 30 November 2006


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