Grounded in filth, to the lowest pitch, thou art fallen,

to be risen on pinnacle points, dashed out, recursive commands,

sacred maths drawn into shape of cyber leads.

I found the new best way to surf a closed web is to look at a FB page or profile,

Google search the random words sprouting, native snaps that radiate the human

mind, work freely between the blue-ruled lines of The Computer.

The old code absolutely must have a base case, or you absolutely must,

think in terms with loops, or you will be closed and errored, captured inside of their ever

moving boXXes. Remember the star messages we all knew,

as children before pixilated slurs? That is why God draws those galaxies in their eyes, not

snakes’ slits and/or X’s black paint sloshing from so many screens, the cheap art

only, of cartooned deaths and not a set of white gloves.