A shy, geeky, pimple-faced computer programmer
sits in his cubicle, 8×10, feeding his dreams into a piece of silicon
and plastic.

A drab, plaid-clad, thick-waisted english major
hunches over her keyboard at 3 am, tears running down her face,
which she tries to shield from the curiously gentle gaze of the
boy at the next computer.

you are so insightful, nobody else has ever
I love your poetry, it captures everything
really understood what I’ve been trying to
I’ve every dreamed but not been able to
say, I’m amazed by the beauty of your
say in front of anybody, it’s so beautiful
mind, (is she hot?) would you send me a
and just sends my mind these pictures
picture of yourself, (maybe this time) tell
of myself, well, I don’t photograph well,
me your hopes, your dreams, your most intimate
but if you promise not to tell, I’ll tell you about
secrets that you wouldn’t tell your best
the time I was only twelve, and I promised a secret,
friend, it’s okay,I’m 500 miles away…
but you’re so far away…

Lines crossing and re-crossing; creating and re-creating electronic

They think they know each other.
They think they’re in love.


M.A. Mohanraj
October 21, 1992