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Matthew Bridgham
Poems
Jun 2012
Inter.net: a prochecy
Conversation has become
A chain of phrases, one by one.
Motions are rehearsed in song
Like YouTube Comments, in the wrong.
Trolls are lawling in their crypt
Of rocky couches. They’re the hip
Of fame for ten plus five, or
Replies so long you must ‘See More…’
People say:
‘Century twenty plus one—
Where things are thought and said and done
In Memes—We have epic skill.’
Say this, we always will.
Few have seen ROFLcopters
Fly between before and afters.
From ones who make no livin,
Not a single **** was given
About Chuck Norris being
A bible-thumper (or being
A terrible actor). Nah.
The Interwebs is home for all.
People might say:
‘Century twenty plus one—
Where things were dreamt and wished and done
In words—They had all the skill.’
Say this, we hope they will.
The fad of freedom is gone.
Forums closed. No statuses on
Facebook. Nothing has been kept
In life after the Internet.
How did this happen to US?
Z-Day and the Day Zero fuss
Released Mayan, canny *******?
Our demise was writ, bit by bit.
People will say:
‘Century twenty plus one—
Where things were lame but lots of fun
For free—Then they passed the bill.’
Say this, we know they will.
The
avunculicide
of Sam
Reveals the brighter side of spam.
Written by
Matthew Bridgham
Ann Arbor
(Ann Arbor)
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Matthew Bridgham
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