|By Kato Jaworski|
An unlikely story
Could I dismantle my stake in progress?
Delete a few of the novelty apps
from my iPhone? Stop using GPS?
Postpone texting while I’m on the crapper?
Can I leave the net, go mobilephoneless?
Can I store a dead laptop in burlap?
Without my computer, will there be lunch?
I’ll work at home, schedule a midday nap.
I’ll free the old well and muck out the sludge.
I will be thirsty. I will be a mess.
Where can I walk when the Honda won’t budge?
Can I rest long nights in February?
I’ll make my own music on wires and jugs.
I’ll stitch my own wounds, meet pain’s ecstasies,
and make a storied storehouse of my lap.
In summer only I’d eat ripe cherries,
and hang The Apple back upon The Tree.