Byline: Teenage Love Affair
An honest moment, a pure spot. To come from there is all one could wish for.
And from now on, this is an authorized riot zone. A mispronounced
word. A seduction over the internet.
I ply my trade and reach for reaction, refreshment and reformation.
Making due with the goods I got.
Simple sentences line up, populate your monitor, make way for meaning
but meaning is something one has to make for themselves.
Language mimics nature, music mimics time, graffiti mimics space.
Laughing at our humanity makes us human.
Dignity and shame swing like some displaced pendulum in our hearts
while our minds are occupied with more pressing diversions.
Clear and disciplined thought increases the chance for better
keystrokes, cooler counterpoint lines and slicker escape routes. So says my
manual.
Train stops and tunnels whiz by like chapters in a book. Each
girder, each electrical box, a knot in the plot. Terminals are starting
points.
Kids kicking it off center have showdowns over billboard signs,
freight trains and traffic signs. Battles over sunshine spring forth time to
time.
Monitoring this monitor for a mere moment mitigates most as
meaningless. Time ill spent. Perhaps.
But I have faith that maybe there's a campus computer or lonely
laptop receiving this information right now and on time. And here's to that
hope.
And like the poet whose mission is to express in a few words what
might not be adequately described in many, I hope you are better off for
clicking a few keystrokes this way.
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