If you’d let me. If you’d be so kind. If you’d allow me to crawl out
of this box of dead Youtube celebrities.
To climb over the hanged Soundcloud miscreants. The twitter bird is
lying at the bottom of the cage in a mine.
Oh, it went by in an Insta. We turn the pages to the end within
a book that has no face
and then go back to page 1.
I don’t like intrusions.
Let’s close the door and go back
down to the basement.
the 70 year old ladyboys
and leather-clad bears.
Thank you, Daddy.
Someone, turn on a light. Please?
My close up has come and gone and come.
I’m so hot can I come out now?
These blankets are so heavy when I’m in bed
Look at me, raving like
a goat in a hailstorm!
May I have this dance? Let’s read all this history
I can hardly see through all of the haze,
all of the shop talk.
The story is so old
we stopped posting.
We stopped dancing on the webcams.
Slide the VHS in deep and
We shall proceed?
Shall we proceed?
The fallen angels,
the milquetoast devils.
They lured me in with passion
to find my passion going tactical nuclear.
Leaving them sundered
while I dance my dance of The Thousand Zeros and Ones.
If you’d let me. If you’d be so kind.
Close the door.
There’s a gig of draft in here and someone keeps spraying for terabytes.