THE DEAD
Although we paste parchment on the
Friday lines of people, outside the
food lines and insides the halls, there's
not much they say : Words and, now,
instructions, they only go so far. On
the precipice border, I notice some
already going over.
-
Maye this is what cloud computing
has always meant : mysterious vapor,
huge masses of some information,
right or wrong or good or bad, just
there, and floating off.
-
This very old iron fence has rainbow
ribbon on it. Memento Mori from
another time, another virus still.
At the farther end, near the corner,
they never fixed it up where once
a car crashed through. Just jumbled
metal, iron bars. Like me and you?
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