Dark room nights
when phosphor meant something;
electrons flowed from cathode,
magnetic fluxes to deviate beams
serial flow to parallel screens.
Alone at terminals,
each character changed flyback hum
colors changed with programmed tone —
music of the transistors underneath,
and whine of local parts
was sound of distant hearts.
Dial tones began the laughter
play time on the line,
that magic place without face:
i spoke i, you spoke you.
In the middle, telemediated
we laughed, cried, winked
modem lights blinked
big thoughts thinked
on every drink.
Drunk by remote control
telepresent love extol
tribe without turf and means
but glowing phosphors and dreams.

Published by Shawn

He's just this guy, you know?