January 17, 2012 § 4 Comments

Charred both retinas staring

at this lit screen.

Letters shimmering

like heat off asphalt.

Cursor ablink.


A building gutted by fire,

the site of the opening

of a letter bomb

is my head.


Acuity diminishing

foreground and background

become subtly woven,

hard to tease apart.


I must worry information

off the screen,

gather the tasteless, touchless,

silent syllables.


If a LEM module crawling

the dead-sea-floor of my skull

scooped a sample

would tests reveal that life

had once existed there?


Note: This poem was written when I was a gainfully employed cubicle dweller who shared the space with the great grey eye of a monitor with weak green neon letters and a cursor that pulsed as slowly as a medicated heart.

Some weeks–this week–life is so overwhelming that all I can do is run to the file of some past self and say, “Give me whatever ya got.” 


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§ 4 Responses to Terminal

  • KM Huber says:

    Ah, cubicle poetry! Along with neon green letters, I remember amber orange and the “tell-tale heart” cursor, which was so much more insistent than the hum of an electric typewriter, which was so irritating compared to a manual typewriter whose keys clunked only when pushed. It really doesn’t seem long ago at all.



  • Sheila Merlau says:


    I thought

    I was

    Going to stumble upon

    Some dear name, like


    or Adrian.

    Relief floods me and humor

    Takes over as I realize

    I misinterpreted


    dear Adrian, Take care, laugh, slow down, breathe, you are the only one chasing you..Many people love you and God didn’t intend for us to live frantic,lives.
    We just aren’t built for it. Delete something, but not me.
    One of your million fans, Sheila


  • Richard Dempsey says:

    I love it. Richard


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