Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of the office
And danced the Chairs on laughter-silvered interphones;
Sunward I've climbed, and watched the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds--and looked on a hundred things
You have not dreamed of--wheeled and clicked and swung
High in the florescent silence. Sitting there,
I've observed the shouting wind, and flung
My unmanned craft through footless halls of ice-free air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning black and white of IR
I've escaped the windswept heights with scheduler’s grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew
And, while with silent, numbing mind I've typed through
The pre-programmed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the flat screen.
(2003, age 19)