Internet Poem

The moon is temporarily off-line, and
a gust flicks the telephone's thin umbilical
against the leylandii outside my window.
Rain dribbles through the leaded panes

past shrunken grey putty, trickles
over the sill and drips a spreading stain
on pale green carpet. Slowly,
a poem stutters down the template,

cut and pasted, backspaced, forward-deleted,
shapes itself as fingers tap the keys,
transmitting thoughts from a tiring brain.
Later, after upload to San Diego,

it will sit inactive on a slice of silicon,
buried forever, safe from scrutiny;
unless you, the curious surfer, should
click on the link that brings it to your screen.

URL: http://mourne.net/netpoem.htm