poem: godhead parasite

If this Inter net

Is a mere vision, sure

Let You be our

Parasite

Commingling never felt so wrong

And two wrongs...and three

But you have so many followers

Where did you go, right

Capacious

Space capades

There must be millions...xillions 

Still we treat each one like the last gold nugget in the desert

Spare me

If I coast like the shore on paster days glory

Or at least, everything it takes to remember acting like you barely exist

Just enough to gain the trust of

The mere concept of both

Being full

And being full-able

Doves swoon for lack of flight capabilities

Baby swans dovetail with a sticky blind goo

I am anything but proud

Still, I lack everything, like shame

And you’ve got two good thumbs

One is being used to bookmark this page on your hitchhiker’s guide

As if we’ll ever got unlost again

You can’t afford to

And I won’t afford to pay myself back

Unless I take the change from my pocket

Put it in my hand

Put it from that hand, into the other hand

And repeat

Practice makes a dull boy.  Baby

You’re sitting on a mountain in space

Counting coincidences using tally marks

Addicted to addiction

That is not repetitive, that is accurate

Wrapped inside a glowing concept

Given away right out of a going rate

A new gold standard.  New as news

Headlining down the coast

Interpreting the hours

Pick axe all mine

Dogwood flowers

Hopping never hipping

And thank god I see sunshine

She’s a-headed East long the Bering Strait

It was all I could do to shake this knowledge-gate

But if I never cross over, at least all have crossed myself once, this time