Tech Talk

I dig a spur of the moment into the feral flanks of a rocking horse. I belong to the stars and the wide-open anywhere. My heart belongs to Molly Maguire a colleen from the low bog country. No wait, this is a dream sequence brewed to overflow at 3 in the morning. The beery light is turning sour as I check my watch for tics. My problem is to many cookies not the edible kind the kind that clog up a computer or a brain (same thing really). When I struggle out of this muddled bed I am going to get myself a deep scan, clean up some dirty memories so that I can plug into a sharper faster reality. Might even rewrite this poem into a clearer form of gibberish, but will probably be too busy today downloading a spinal cord into my aching and malfunctioning mainframe.