Trawling Styx
They wander, bereft of star or compass
through pixel
blizzards, sky salted with electron snow
trying to free a semblance of
self
slathered in photons and microwave flux
from silt in deletion’s
undertow,
to extract a trace of breath or memory
from tangled limbs of the
decision tree.
They work to dredge a modicum of grace
from flooded
basements in a dotcom maven’s dream
as pastel angels, revved in overdrive
buzz streetfront sanctums of their plastic avatar
while K-mart apostles
all gibber a gospel of sale
then pass the sacrament: magnetic strip and
microchip.
A billion deals inscribed in wavefronts
slice unheeded
through our frail organic husks
as melted truth is modemed out through
saturated nodes
sagging under glut, bopping to the voice-box squawk
of the
carpal-tunnel server-error cell-phone-elbow
blues.
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tonyhoffman@earthlink.net