Whenever anybody mentions Wallace Stevens, I’m tempted to bring this up. So, this time I’m giving in to temptation.

Slightly edited from the original version from four years ago, but I still like it. Hope you do, too.


Among twenty glowing iPads,
The only moving things
Were the hands of the bloggers.


I was of three minds,
Like a post
On which there are three comments.


The blogger fisked in righteous rage.
It was a small part of the blogosphere.


A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and their blogroll
Are one.


I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of invective
Or the beauty of innuendo,
A blogpost by Malkin
Or on Kausfiles.


Bicycles filled the parking lot
With emission-free carbon.
The blog-confab attendees
Crossed it for a smoke.
The mood
Traced by the bloggers
An indecipherable cause.


O pale men of Starbucks,
Why do you imagine Pulitzers?
Do you not see how your blog posts
Walked off with the readership
Of the main-stream media?


I wrote novels, stories,
A screenplay, even once a libretto;
But I know, too,
That my blogging has eclipsed
All else I wrote.


When the blogger turned off his cell,
He felt teh suck
To be off-line all evening.


At the sight of bloggers
Typing in the green room,
Even the head of CNN
Would cry out sharply.


He rode over to Capitol Hill
In a black limo.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
An email from his girlfriend
For commentspam.


The cafe has wifi.
The patrons must be blogging.


It was nighttime at half-past noon.
He was blogging
And he was going to blog.
The blogger sat
In his comfy chair.