Joe Turner

  I am shipwrecked. Skewered on this rocky shore and no plank or broken spar big enough to float a drowning rat. I have no knowledge of how I had came to be on that nameless ship, yet, I was its captain. Shanghaied from some pathetic lonely bar in my mind.  I must have heard the soft beckoning moan of the sirens, I only remember the gentle slap of the swell on the bow.  I am now marooned by my own hand, andthe summoning wail of the sirens rises clearly above the howlingwind, and like Sisyphus,  I am drawn to these too familiar cyber reefs over and over and over again.

          The sameness of it all is paralyzing, yet each time the ship founders, I swim ashore and stumble down the rocky cliffs past the cyber hucksters and balls of fornicating flesh and enter the yellow borders of the Orgy room.

         The dim light of the orgy room is always on, and the door is always open. From somewhere deep within, I hear the seductive moan and call of the sirens. Expectantly I enter, and often sit alone in this dingy cyber bar that serves no drinks, and with my fingers on the keys I wait. Perhaps another lonely soul or two is there, we greet- “hi”, “hello”,   “where from”? And then……….We “Chat.” Like all good bars there are corners and alcoves where we can “chat” in private and remove our cyber clothes and decide where to meet, your mind or mine.