Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Circuits of Desire

Lured by Peggy!

Margaret Atwood

She's just surfing the web
cruising aquatic
chasing the murmuring
ferment of

Casts her line.

A sea of wave-tossed
faces, half-drowned
sailors, unbound
siren seekers, clutch
at baited song.

She licks her lips.

pixellated pouting
willed hallucination:
she’s figuring
a wet self, launching
to the surface
wreathed in streams of seaweed
dripping pearls and dreaming
of enchanted
oyster shells.

She flicks a kiss.

One blink and there
he has it, on the blue
screen of desire
(if it’s switched on):
this briny circuitry
of intersecting
lols and smiles
bobbing on the crest
of cyber- swell

Reply blips back:

formulaic fob-off from the
main-mast mariner;
feint of many knotted
men fixed fast upon the deck;
knowing from this perch
that they can listen
to the lilt, yet still
stay high and dry
above the calls from
coral reefs and
oceanic depths.

She takes a dive.

All the selves she might  have been
once was, once more
would wish to be
compete like eager swimmers in the race
to be the first:
to fold the lid
of laptop 
upon its keys;
to shed her fins and fishy tail
to scale the mussel-studded
dock and find her feet
both fleet and firm;
her purpose
wide enough
to walk away.

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