"Wifi Phones"
Stereotyped phones ring.
Bluebirds steal and sing.
That's their thing.
Ping is to Pong as Pong is to Ping.
My cell phone has static on the text messages.
The electrical man made a housecall.
To make my texts readable.
I don't know what language they were written in.
The world will turn on its spin.
A paper mache universe is what we all live in.
In the solar systems of living dead.
Ringing steeple bells can't be heard and we can't be seen.
Except on a television screen.
Living can be mean.
I'm at the confectionary establishment eating candy and ice-cream.
Escaping through the radiator heat's steam.
An orange haze turns into a lazy daze that will bring out Moonlit Mays.
In my soon to be forgotten new craze.
It never will cease to amaze.
The players in Shakespearean plays.
I sometimes feel like I'm in a cage on this world's stage.
Waiting for another age.
When the books will turn to a new page.
Written my last year in San Francisco.
By Jonathan Billet
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