Stretch and work my brain
Hours into the night
Hours into exhaustion
For words on digital pages
That are edited away like vapors.
I did something there, I really did.
But who will ever know?
Who will ever care?
Posted by ruth at February 23, 2003 05:22 PMThis entry has haunted me for a week now. I love it. It's something that's troubled me for years, now, the unreal, changing nature of modern communication. Whether just a grocery list or a masterpiece of literature, it can come and go in a fraction of a blink.
If the electrons that made up a poem go elsewhere, was the poem ever there in the first place?
Posted by: Ryan on March 9, 2003 09:53 PM