1s and 0s

I used to know their names
them on the bus
with the blitzkrieg voices
and napalm fingers
the atoms of their Stratocasters
hard as Intifada stone
their onboard 8-tracks
a history of lucky busking
the next town’s festival seating
still sticky from the bus before

I used to know their names
before it wilted into code
and vinyl was sucked
into a fetish desert,
when the solidity of existence
was brick and
immune to 1s and 0s

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