Ode to Spam

by Wayan, 2007/10/11

"the telephone is the work destroyer" -- Ernest Hemingway

Softly snows the spam upon my lonely brain quilting me in flounderdrifts. Shovel it again. Each dawn I dodge edogshit plopped on my front step. Spam laps time from out my neck in venal vampire suck. The web's one nation of predation. Half my mail's attention-glue. Hooded beggars whine and clutch, slit your pocket, steal your you.

The rest? A slobbering puppypile of well-meant wannafriends. No won- der Papa Hemingway ate that gun. But persons from Porlock ain't my theme. Roaches in my mailbox skitter, breeding even as I clean. Festering letters! Ça suffis! Basta! Oh, I'm bitter. Followers of Adam Smith Pandoralike, can't keep our greed a charming capital myth in the box asleep.