At 3 a.m. the modem screamed:
metal insects mating in the dark.
Welcome! said America Online,
and we believed it.
We believed everything.
You’ve Got Mail! -
ghostly echoes of desire.
AOL discs fell like talismans:
gas stations, dorm rooms, offices -
each a halo,
each a trap.
We typed our worth in chatrooms:
ASL?
IPO?
LOL - who needs revenue?
Bubble charts climbed,
spines of spectral towers in blue.
CNBC spoke in tongues,
CEOs in frosted hair
rang bells like cathedral priests.
“Eyeballs!” “Synergy!” “First mover!”
Their smiles were tombs of teeth.
Napster hummed like a siren,
Metallica leaking through stolen wires.
Lars sued the kids.
Ownership became optional,
freedom an illusion in compressed files.
BlackBerrys bloomed on belts:
thumbs twitching like lab rats,
emails arriving before thought.
Efficiency became prophecy.
Destiny, a blinking red light.
Pets.com barked at the Super Bowl,
that sock puppet grinning, eternal,
shipping kibble into the void.
Losses were cute;
profit, a ghost.
“Burn rate,” we whispered
around flickering fluorescent fires.
Venture capital poured like blood
into hollow companies.
We will be the Amazon of -
of air. Of nothing.
Enron sold sunshine futures,
invented weather in spreadsheets,
traded the reflection,
and laughed behind glass towers.
The lights stayed on
until they didn’t.
WorldCom laced the earth with fiber,
buried truth beneath the circuits,
capitalized lies, amortized sin,
called it growth.
Auditors blinked.
The market shivered.
NASDAQ peaked like a fever,
March, 2000.
Doctors said rest.
We bought more stock.
Every dip was opportunity
until it wasn’t.
Then the quiet.
The dial-up stopped screaming.
Charts learned gravity.
Desks emptied like tombs.
CEOs vanished into depositions.
The sock puppet went mute.
Napster’s notes turned to chains.
BlackBerrys buzzed with layoffs.
AOL married Time Warner,
divorced,
and blamed the kids.
We boxed our dreams with swag:
stress balls, vision statements,
laminated optimism.
The future rebooted without us.
Sometimes, late,
a frozen screen cries again:
a ladder of static climbing nowhere;
and I remember how easy it was
to worship the ghosts
of everything rising,
to mistake shadow for substance,
and neon for light.
David A. Lee is physician, philosopher, and poet based in Houston, Texas, whose work explores memory, human connection, and the liminal spaces between perception and reality. He holds a background in medical science and philosophy, bringing a reflective and inquisitive lens to his writing. His poetry draws inspiration from both contemporary and classical literature, emphasizing vivid imagery and emotional depth. His poems are forthcoming in Mobius, Euonia Review, and Unbroken Journal. David is currently developing a collection of original poems examining time, identity, and place.
