words

i watch the world condense
to a singular point of origin
and it is without purity,
without clarity,
a non inspired critical mass
that i am left out of.

with every domain,
every kilobyte and internet protocol
the string between everything
goes slack and distance is dissolved,
there is no place to disappear
but for the valleys made in loosing
that still harbor the shiver
of baud rate dialect
like an echo of machine birth,
turning the blood to bits of data
and the brain to spinning discs.

caught up in it like arachnid prey,
twisting and gripping the confines
while this new god from the machine
codes a world i do not wish to be part of,
his face a flat panel monitor
and his body a mainframe,
his veins are graphed to a circuit board
and his arms are wires,
his blood coolant
and his word novelty, mindless indulgence
much like the old
but much newer, shiny and metallic
and fluid, a conglomerate
of open source idiocy
bleeding from every phone line
and cable conduit
and the eyes of everyone, everyone.

-S.C. Martinez