What if I were writing this in long-hand
and my computer was switched off somewhere
and I was outside in the open air
say, sitting on a beach towel in the sand
say, writing something structured but unplanned
about gadgets, fun gadgets that don’t care
if I want fun or rescue from despair
or love or money or to understand,
then is the world a gadget around me,
not a wristwatch or a calculator
or a camera, but the sea and sun
and sand grains compressing underneath me—
by pushing my pen, playing creator,
would the world gadget accept this as “fun”?
and my computer was switched off somewhere
and I was outside in the open air
say, sitting on a beach towel in the sand
say, writing something structured but unplanned
about gadgets, fun gadgets that don’t care
if I want fun or rescue from despair
or love or money or to understand,
then is the world a gadget around me,
not a wristwatch or a calculator
or a camera, but the sea and sun
and sand grains compressing underneath me—
by pushing my pen, playing creator,
would the world gadget accept this as “fun”?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Little Complicated Things And Stuff
Gadget Angst
The Criss-Crossing Of Sara’s Hair
I Can’t Sleep In My Kitchen
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