Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Reckoner (take three)

Since we uploaded into the cloud
the earth misses us the ground
It hasn’t rained for months

The sleek new skins of our hand-
held devices flash menacingly calm
like the pearl blank face of the water

We go down to the lake
and bathe in its shades: gin clear
fluorescent grey

All our campfire girls
All our drowned fuselages and kelped wrecks
All our pine pollen soft parades

Our mouthfuls and gulped breaths
How many gigabytes is that?


Sometimes we float, bumping along
shoulder to shoulder in the screensaver
blue in a simulacrum of friendship
If we’re not in the lake
where are we?

Seen and unseen

like a Ghost Man on second
like a child worker in China


Sometimes we float in it almost
bodiless lost in the flickering
voices that will not save us

Even with value added

The pony-tailed technician
who assembled and wiped
to a loving sheen
our delicately cheap touchscreens

her little hands are ruined
by the solvents
by the robotic maneuvers

so we can share
with smudgeless clarity

She doesn’t even know
how to swim


Teenaged girls drop from factory eaves
like spiraled cones raining 
from pine boughs

in a sudden gust

Circles touching circles
across faces

We take and we take and
we tag


On the lakeshore a mother mallard
nestles into needles to make her
home above rocks

where a boy with a stick
is sure to find her
Where is your warm hand
for my hand?

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