Google drives

tucked into my google drive
buried under edited versions of the same documents
titled (1) (2) (3) (4) (and so on)
is nothing particularly interesting
alphabetically or chronologically ordered
nor listed by type and size
merely the collected digital trash
collated by being mine
making up the grand total of unknowable mb
until told I've run out
undeleted unopened underrated
since the year of our cyberlord google 2008.

The Blue Line

watch blue line
on map move like
marker 'cross
cuts and daggers
ridges of stone,

tan/yellow/green
moves around
gray/red/blue
impassable objects,

line swings down
and takes in the
grand old mysterious
south, foggy in our
child's eye,

oh, those places we
haven't been!

that golden sun
bakes the earth
that dark, dark night
of my dreams,

what's out there, hey?

what's there left to find?

where the wheels go next
my body follows

down
down

ah, great abyss,

falling
falling

Google it.

It's good
Google schedules my day for me,
it's been years since I could
remember what I liked, see
the ads on the side-scroll totem
say your prayer to the
Amazonian gods, I suggest you
read them used, it's cheaper
and there's minimal wear and tear,
just speak with the credit card
swipe and the tap of the modern
poet, finish up with the security code
stanza the signature so's the public
private public knows it's you
and can connect the heart of the
bank account blues, the scrawl on the html
wall, the mailbox and the waiting game,
the unwrapped potential, buying homogenized
fame, we aren't a cult of money
we just know what we want
and it's whatever we're told;
I'm good.

Wave

Whatever happened to Google Wave?
Drawn in by the motion of the moon,
obscured, incandescent light,
through a link an error displayed,
404? Or else? salty and sticking to my lips,
you left us,
neither sated, nor confident
for you return.