Electronic Poems

"A Virus"

It seems when I go, Error is my name.

I’m a little like normal, but tell me if I’m gone.

"A Robot’s Fever"

I like seeing lasers, deep, slow, tropical lasers.
Just imagine arrows of light that burn, really evaporate.
It takes too much to hold a gun for this hour.
I’m likening, I’m enchanted by the sway of beams.
Atari’s colors are too hot in the darkness.
The graphics are like bolts of calico-fur in a shining garage.
TVs seem to be wrapped with our reflections.
It’s an intelligent vision for a blind worker like me.
Of course, Atari machines have the powers we strive for.
A flash of electricity is like a naked curtain that’s closed for supreme quality.
Gazes at manuals help me find what numbers to tie in a game.
So it’s a bonus for a life, an extra life to a bonus.
A machine can be so ramped up, it can become the odyssey of a jaguar.
Of course, gamers like me become wild cats when madness consumes our minds.
If I may trigger a playful event, I might leave in macro-satisfactory.
So, what’s out of the looking glass besides the army cut?
Just tilt pix against groovy stars and see the Tron of rainbows.
A box has plenty of buttons for my smile again.
Colors protect our eyes, that’s why we see them.
If anything, Atari is like a mountain that can’t hide.
If we’re invading space, there’s plenty of rest.
So, hit that toggle and let me sleep!