Prime Directive

I hauled the hardware out to Prince Street –
detritus from an old computer, some of it
still operable, some quite incomplete:
a printer, router, monitor and cables snaking
out of casing for my warhorse of a hard-drive
(which I had contrived to wreck in private

to deprive posterity of records of my rash
innumerable sins): not half an hour later
all of it had disappeared into Manhattan’s
vast ephemerally absent but apparently
voracious bins: somewhere beyond a merely
human reach, upon some unsuspected

beach-head of another batch of lives, reside
the leavings of my secret hives. Gobble up
each cataclysm, each haphazard scrap
of nothing special: vestiges of any spray
of urban play: instantly absorb it through
its many-chambered maw: New York City law.


.