 INBOX The inbox bothers me it's an appearance of what might be, if seclusion or dependency were made my life’s only destiny, after rising from my dreams fitfully I staggered to the screen, pressed the starting button, waited a bit, had patience to sit... And electronic wizardry silently sequenced its internal tasks, the computer responded that no new message existed at all, would my life melt, would I vanish, shoved out in the hall... Turn to burnt paraffin, an isolate at the height of the ball? Loneliness, isolation, a gathering storm, confusion, demented, grasping a chair, I'd fall to the ground, no one would notice, no one would care, an invisible man, a cipher, a zilch, a boor, the inbox is empty, my emails unanswered, contacts lost... On stormy seas I'm lost, my wearied bones and flesh tossed, suddenly might I fashion, that inboxes are not my boss, the sun rises, the sea is becalmed a distant island is espied... I’ll reach it somehow, disembark, there's an incoming tide! 19th April, 2006 Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York. |
