By the way, in all the confusion of this month, I fell "off shcedule" for updating the Poetry Site, and while I have almost gotten all the 1997 poems converted over to ascii, I'm a long way from getting the new year up. I'm still hoping that I'll be able to get a year done a month, but it may take me a while to "get up to speed" with that frequency.
CAUGHT IN IMMUNE WORLDS
descending focus
scrambled sight
we have no center
from which to gauge
we have no locus
within the grid ...
we have mass but not place
spin but no charge
uncertain flows
in aether, time
as though redoubled
or twisted back;
we can not read
the pattern there,
we can't deduce
the meaning in the mode
a desperation grips
at the isolation here
because the outer world
does not release
or ease its vile demands
and we can not synch
with the turn of gears
of that dire machine
no other paths
can be unveiled
no matter how we search
we seem to be
cast down to this
damned to a world
in which we have no function,
alien, unwanted
all systems here
seek to repress
our very being
as though we infected
the sleeping host
of the mundane mass
which dully acts
to eradicate, purge and destroy
- Brendan Tripp
09/28/2001
Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp