Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

Words emerge
From my virtual quill
Dipped in phosphor ink
Scratched in plasma.

They ride the wire
Flash through air
Soar on waves of
Sunlight.

From here to anythere
Thoughts wick away
Pulled from me
Into your waiting mind.

You feed me
And I feed you
With ideas born
Of rumination.

The multiplication
Of consciousness
Is the child
Of our chat.