Wires (August)

Laid out everlastingly, a good servant and bad master, they bind us whether we will or no with hundreds of cords, whither we go and at murky sunrise the house lights turn on and the street lights off from here to where the salt water begins and never ends.

Such delicate design of gantries and overheads and chains and bolts and crossbars and rods descend to keep trains alive while overhead the haywire of deciduous branches and stems of TV antennae glisten with the remains of wires of rain.

In the cold ground a light year of cables relay unpoetic data faster than we walk; the cold air wets the unending cables taking information over our heads; wind and storms threaten, says the weekend internet.

On freezing stops the prospective passengers take in unstopping music through ipod plugs, wait for the overdue tram, or fingertip polyhedron screens for the latest passive missive via invisible cables and cloudy satellites.

The lies of politicians in the heat of studios in the midst of elections on the pixels of screens at the windows of residences in the square miles of avenues of cities of promises, hang by a thread, barely connected.

There’s a high turnover rate because they treat their staff like crap; can we talk, this situation is right out of hand; come over on the weekend, just you and me; I’ve heard this all before and I tell you it won’t work anymore: on and on on the phone all day and night.

Actors on stage breaking out of Lilliputian ropes, untying the knots with words of wisdom, the trackwork to town they traverse, the microcircuitry of world wide words; untying the tangle actors are bound to through waking hours.