In a jar, somewhere in my kitchen, buried under boxes of junk....
But he yearns for poetry, and I acquiesce....
Electronic Man
Distance bridged by fickle media
Words fly slowly across the page
Soul and thought fear not the implement
Intellect feels and soon it fails
The planet swings again
Connecting outlets to devices
Phrases form solidly into fact
Life not lived without notice
We strive or we contrive
To wring passion from exchange
Affirmation of opposition
There's no meeting in the meaning
There ya go, fine, I did it, and I guess it didn't kill me. But The Bard is still The Man, and #57 is still killer shit.
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