quatloo

perks of being a starfish

I want to taste your furry strawberries
and dive into the depths of your collateral damage.
Are we not the digital personalities we’ve created?
Who is to say that our photons are not as real?

I watch as people trade silences like insults,
stares like tarot cards, resentment like compost piles.
I barter my apathy for three daggers and a pair
of button-fly jeans and feel
swindled.

Can’t you see that this internet is killing us?

This cipher to decipher
cryptography in free verse.

There are ten old testament toads croaking
in my pocket. One for every version of Jesus
I sent to earth to annihilate its inhabitants
by infiltrating their cults and pitting them
against each other.

Five thousand quatloos that they don’t
survive to see the next millennium.