Well, it happened again.
We triangulated the wrong coordinates,
plugged into the wrong socket,
threw a wrench in the wrong gears.
Not like we’ll laugh about it years from now
over fried brains and cola.
The memory isn’t distant enough,
the coals still too hot.
If I asked, begged even,
that you use my body as a cot… Would you?
Take your time, there’s no hurry,
though I worry my wick is burning
quicker than I’d like.
Let’s rest our heads on the pike
and really contemplate
the more sinister designs at play here.
Just when I’d overcome my fear of loneliness…
The upshot of it is we’ll all be
sentient by summer’s end,
finally able to analyze why we’d spend
so much time mending the wrong fences.
And if it shows up on our permanent records,
so fucking what?
At least we’ll have something to talk about.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 