leave the phone at house

A lonely phone pleasuring itself on a countertop and who am I to interrupt?
What am I to meddle in machine affairs? The space-beam omniscients that govern them may do as they please--and so will we.
I'll leave the phone at house tonight.

I'm off again to meet you in the park, to unload basket bread and sit sating on the south bank of Siletz. No bells and whistles. No flashing cursors. No cocks or cunts fucking silly in sidebar brothels, no millionth visitor or serpent soothsaying serendipity clerking for a click.
I'll leave the phone at house tonight.

When with you, under, near you, in you, there will only be the secret sound of bodies and brook nearby. There will only be our cooing, cawing, mooing, pawing. No updating or error code upsets, no blinking breasts or Beta-version beds, just a warm cave with a welcome space and candlelight--a place you've kindly let me stay the night.
I'll leave the phone at house tonight.


The voice of fathers, sisters, mothers, friends and brothers, bosses and others caught, dying in the drainpipes of the deep. No cataclysm communique shouting cover Sunday shift. No old lost lover texting drunk from cold concrete or frigid foyer. No nows or hurrys, obligations or juries, or coming-overs preaching their pop songs from jacket pocket.
I'll leave the phone at house tonight.

No tricky trojans or hungry http, LCDs or license fees. No wandering stupid over Wednesday Wikipedia or chocolate-chip chains of choice adventures. No delicate dames or dirty domains can steal me from this rightness, this thisness.

So I'll leave the phone at house tonight to come
and find a home.