A shy, geeky, pimple-faced computer programmer sits in his cubicle, 8x10, feeding his dreams into a piece of silicon and plastic. A drab, plaid-clad, thick-waisted english major hunches over her keyboard at 3 am, tears running down her face, which she tries to shield from the curiously gentle gaze of the boy at the next computer. you are so insightful, nobody else has ever I love your poetry, it captures everything really understood what I've been trying to I've every dreamed but not been able to say, I'm amazed by the beauty of your say in front of anybody, it's so beautiful mind, (is she hot?) would you send me a and just sends my mind these pictures picture of yourself, (maybe this time) tell of myself, well, I don't photograph well, me your hopes, your dreams, your most intimate but if you promise not to tell, I'll tell you about secrets that you wouldn't tell your best the time I was only twelve, and I promised a secret, friend, it's okay,I'm 500 miles away... but you're so far away... Lines crossing and re-crossing; creating and re-creating electronic images/words/pictures/faces/names/ideals They think they know each other. They think they're in love. ***** M.A. Mohanraj October 21, 1992Click here to read more poems.