we are part of the records we keep
– Gayatri Spivak
i
network
and the word flares trumpets
shining webs
connect me
dissolving time and space
network
soaked with information
all there is to know
the little wire
next to my bed
network
the net
work
feeding the teenage son
waiting in line for the password
shaking the numbness from the shoulders
the arms
ii
my best friend lives two thousand miles away
and every day
my fingertips bleed distilled intimacy
trapped Pavlovas
dance, I curse, dance
bring her to me
the bandwidth of her smell
iii
years ago I lay twisted below the terminal
the keyboard my only hope for work
for continuity
my stubburn shoulders
my ruined spine
my aching arms
suspended above my head soft green letters
reflect back:
Chapter One
no one can see you
Chapter Two
your body is filtered here
Chapter Three
you are not alone
iv
oh seductive metaphor
network flung over reality
filaments spun from the body
connections of magic
extend
extend
extend
who will see the spaces between?
the thread trails in front of me
imagine a network with no spaces between
fat as airas talk
this morning in the cold Illinois winter sun
an old man, or perhaps not so old
made his way in front of a bus his aluminum canes inviting
spider thoughts
a slow, a pregnant spider
the bus lumbering stopped
and in the warm cafe I read of networks and cyborgs
the clean highways of data
the swift sure knowingthat comes with power
who will smell the factory will measure the crossroads
will lift his heavy coat from his shoulders
will he sit before
the terminal
v
it's too late for romance
the chestnut tree blooms no more
the corn and pigs in this vast flat place
travel the network too
their genes secure in stock indexes
it's too late for bitterness
but still there is a space
in the net
a choice of cyborgs
oh brave new world
for the courage to choose the mundane
the rough wool of a winter coat
draped over an old back
a smell, a feel of her hair
the unfamiliar intimacy of the dancing letters
literacy
or survival
vi
am I the only one who strokes the scars
the Frankenstein neck
who wonders
when the stitches will come
out