jazz or sex or soup

We are travelers in Virtuallia:
(echoes of apparitions in the crowd)
post-hip, post-censorship
pornographic sky-scraper minds
taking the silicon Jesus trip

"kill your radio"
says the young millionaire rock-star
but it's all the artists
and the laborers
(sleeping in cars and closets
and rag-tag humaternal apartments)
have to listen to;
old fisher-men still sing
of Joe DiMaggio

We are travellers in Virtuallia:
"bleak of brain"
"getting and spending"
lost in beauty,
lost in love,
lost in Moloch,
making our way through
the anarchic peace-time fog

January, 2011:
In America, "exceptionalism" and drug-craze,
wooded purple hills and prison cities.
In Egypt, tear-gas clouds and bloody crowds.
In China, nuclear power ascendant.
In England, Julian Assange a defendant.

We are travellers in Virtuallia:
rich and poor,
monks and whores,
wandering dead-beat cubist alleys,
seeking hope or meaning
"seeking jazz or sex or soup"
(((Gins.)))