The Silicon Stone Age

You see me on the street.
I know Shakespeare; so do you!
You're amazed I read books and follow the news.
I voted for Kerry; so did you!
You don't see what this is your gold watch and sophisticated views.
Have you drunk ten shots of absinthe and painted a self-portrait in your own blood?
Have you read "Les Miserable," "The Bhagavita," "The Magic Mountain" and every work of Hemingway, Shakespeare, Keats, Hesse and Kerouac?
Have you slept in your car in the freezing desert?
Have you stepped out of World Literature class to vomit scraps of your own flesh and returned for the rest of the lecture?
Ducked at drive-bys?
Have you spent five days in a penitentiary hole?
Have you spent two winter months in a redwood, bathed in acid rain, your soul sustained only by THC?
Have you given your only sweater to an old beggar and shop-lifted another?
Have you sold your treasured books one by one in order to smoke weed, drink fine espresso and share your literary vision with the world?
No, you haven't.
Don't tell me that I re-should think my format.
Go buy some more stocks, eat some fucking sushi, and buy my fucking poetry book.
We are a society of barbarians with lap-tops.
This is the cyborg stone age and I am Hannibal with a wireless keyboard bought with drug money.