i dream of the sea,
whispering like a wild cloud,
stretching the blue air.

Land lines, phonographs, telex and hat racks,
Pagers and zip drives, typewriters, ****-
Cassettes and telegraphs, tape reels and 8-tracks,
Floppies and slide shows, mainframes that sang.

Boom boxes, slide rulers, portable TVs,
PDAs, Walkmans, the reel-to-reel spin,
Laserdiscs, cartridges, glowing CRTs-
All relics, all memories, fading within.

Yet in this museum of things left behind,
You stand beside me, astonishingly, real.
The world keeps on changing, erasing its kind,
But you, love, remain-what I touch, what I feel.

is it crazier that i talk to myself
or that i listen
or that the message gets lost
between source and destination
i have my eyes wide
twenty twenty vision
a blind man
in a black cave
crawling toward the precipice
of all of his previous bad decisions