Black Spam Despair

20030429

SPAM
Petrol on the black fire of despair

In loneliness I check my mail again
Has she written?
The friend who cares, but lies so
very far away in chance and path,
The fading moon seems closer.
When she writes, it warms and saddens.
Contrasts to my life, where never will
such loves hold close again.
Still, this is fate, it can be borne.

But what wrongs bring instead this
Sly vile pretense at eager friendship,
which is not her and so not wanted,
more so for offering all it cannot give.

With lying tricks, I'm dragged to see
Hollow promises of love, and more.
Assured I'd easily, with simple pills,
increase the size of whats no longer needed.
Or remove all debts, as if, by keystrokes
quick, the world would turn a kinder face.
I'm sure that Julie does indeed perform,
before her webcam some amazing feats,

perhaps even, with these expensive scents,
she'll be drawn upon some hopeful wearer.
And if I needed, mail order medication,
there's no end of wealthy Nigerian officials
eager to wire the money, on my account.
Supposing there were, a woman I wished,
to pleasure, all it takes is ten letters mailed,
to those at the top of this list, and add my
name below, on the roll of lonely seekers.
Were I lacking names, why - here's all
of 324,797 targeted leads. And every one
just waiting, eager, to hear from their
One true lover - or else reply, remove!
Though alas, that one bounces, or confirms
that yes, here lies a target, for yet more
kind offers, E-greetings, and helpful exes
known to cure those nasty holes in Win-XP.
Such poor gambles pale, compared to the certain
gains assured, with online casinos, and the
even more unlimited income of working at home.
On it pours, with Frank, who'll come over later,
and Forward: did I see this? Why, no, I didn't.
And never will. Even if it is a truly low, low
rate of refinancing. Even were I to earn, money
while I sleep. Or dream, of Mother's Secrets.
Still would come these torments, unwanted,
tempting nothing but certain tedious deletion.
None escaping, not even an extra two inches.

A curse on them all! What more evidence could be,
of the shallow, foolish push. The aching certainty
that humanity is dead, all ground down to dull
senselessness. All spirit gone, all chance
for higher things long lost. These are people who
would sack ancient museums, and scoff at lovers
holding hands in joy. The world is torn apart, by
vandals, lunatics and liars. Their din drowns out
what faint whispers of hope might once remain.

One dreaming wish alone these fools inspire.
In this hand, a shining sword, fresh sharpened.
In the other, a list, names, and places.
This good deed left to do, before departing.
Blood running bright, far brighter than their
past grey outpourings.
Spammers slain in thousands, scarlet streams shorting
out their DSL, html head from body sliced, never either
to appear again in fair ascii email.