My Space

There are a few good reasons, at least
not to take my laptop to bed.
But when I’m lounging on the recliner
watching youtube or reading fark,
sometimes I just feel like getting under the covers.

Much like my earliest experiences with cable television,
I stay up past my bedtime, my mind passive but not at rest
as sounds and images fall into my unguarded brain.
I wake up tired and sore, without energy or creativity,
and suffer through the day, waiting for another round.

Last night I almost went to sleep
but checked my email one last time, and then,
for the hell of it, signed in to myspace
in case I’d received a message.

I happened to see a link
to the list of people from my high school.
It’s been a while since the last time I looked.
With a single click, I cast aside an hour of sleep or more.

The glowing screen in the dark room
showed me pictures of faces I’d forgotten.
Some looked exactly the same, but I had to stare at others,
look deep into their pixilated eyes and search for a trace
of the memory, real or imagined, of a split-second smile
as we passed each other in the hallway at school.

My neck propped up on a folded pillow,
I read about the people I grew up with.
Support our troops. I have a personal relationship with Jesus.
Who I’d like to meet: Steven Hawking, Bill Gates, my dad.

I add them all as friends.
And when I wake up in the morning,
stiff neck again, I have messages waiting.
I realize that I only lost touch because I never had it.

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