I write to you from the arch in my back—
The bend in my frame,
A painful spot—
Good posture's enemy—
From the a** down below—
My legs aching,
My knees itching—
My flatulence ready for flight—
From the office at my school—
The custodians at work in the halls—
The floor polisher humming,
Their keys jangling—
From the house where I live—
The house to be a home—
From my broken Dell—
My crummy ol' computer from college—
From my Wife's new Gateway—
The laptop that she bought from Best Buy
So she could make contact with her mother in another country—
Two glorious women talking face-to-face on the Information Superhighway—
From a desktop at the public library in West Valley City—
A room of strangers and citizens that live and love like me—
A few million microbes subsisting on the keys in use—
From the A key, the space bar, the F key, the E key, the W key, et cetera—
I write to those who will find these words—
To those who will read them,
To those who will understand,
To those with boundless minds and romantic hearts
I write all, none excluded—
To the Bloods and to the Crips—
To the worshipers and the atheists—
To the men and women, the boys and girls
I write to you—and I write to you