Again the ether seizes on a post
Makes it exist where it had not before:
An electronic, digitalized ghost
Drenched not with protoplasm or with gore
But with the bits of TCP/IP
That will not let it rest in emptiness
But draw it into half-reality.
I may have made it once, I do confess,
But thought it gone, discarded, made away;
To have it haunt me blank is near unnerving
And since I know that I must let it stay
I try to find a way to be deserving
Of something other than its condemnation;
And so I make it whole, by innovation.
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