silicon kids.
with their plastic smiles and rubber souls,
they walk,
overdosing on oxygen and melting at the night sky.

silicon kids.
caged up hearts and metal minds,
lips full of fibs and fingertips full of light,
they escape.

silicon kids.
their fire eyes and typewriter feet,
cloudy chests masking emotion,
they hide.

Adventures with an Olivetti

(In which the scrivener violates his rule never to write in the first-person)

My bed was a Sears & Roebuck sleeping bag
And my world headquarters that old MG;
An Olivetti portable processed
My words, my fresh young words, that no one read

I owned more books than clothes, and only those few
That could be stowed in the passenger seat;
I fancied myself the new Rod McKuen
And I wasn’t - but I remember the road

When the world was new, adventures every day
And I miss that - but mattresses are nice