Monday, November 2, 2009

walking and smoking and spilling coffee

Today at work I picked up the beige touch-tone tele-phone and called myself,
I didn't answer --
an alien voice said "hi sarah's voicemail, leave a message if you feel like it"
I mashed a few keys, in groups of four, to see if somehow
there was a portal to be opened on this line;
The right combination could reveal a soft accidental curve
where time loops back upon itself,
and I upon myself.
Always I am picking locks:
this is life inside the exceptional mimic.
The ro-bot operator [roboperator], evidently loathe to explain to me
my options, sympathetically told me:
"I'm Sorry!
You Seem To Be Having Trouble!
Please Try Again Later!"
The line went dead.
son of a bitch

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