White-Binder Poems  

They said, don't write like the old guys
don't write novels filled up with smoke and mirrors.

the narrative has lost its magic, its strings relink to the
          frivolous.

They said the world remakes itself a few times
each millennia and this is one such time.

New numbers, new persons, new words, new thoughts.
The perfect moment hangs neatly on the cross of experience.

And ideas, they said, strip all your ideas
and express the form that madmen trace along
the midnight skyline of your favorite city.

Everything reduced down to the limp of a tramp
who turned out to be a funny guy admired across
a stage illumined by every sort of media; a carnival
of machines; a drowning of them.

And the media
away from a desire to see and control
to destroy and bring into being
to fascinate and own.

The media, a crawling beast across the face of God
Yet a new way to torture men and dust the mind with
                 complexity;

The media is a vast planet the people are dependent on.