prank callers and Internet trolls
are much sought-after
and decently paid jobs
amid failing everything

antimatter
is flowing freely

suspended sentence mode activated

testing tacky technologies
on the attendees

a long way
from bright ideas
to floral tributes

If I start to tell a story
you’ve heard before,
you just let me know.

I’ve told that one before,
that’s right,
and I’m gonna tell it again.

So, in the quantum world
we well may be a hologram.

A black hol-ogram.

Each time I pose for a selfie,
I wonder
where all the information
could have gone.

The black hole-as(s)-hologram…
Living on the boundary…
The camera failing to capture my whole head.

Sometimes I realize
I’ve told it before,
but just think,
“F**k it.”
Then I just tell it again.

I think
it’s a combination of poor memory
and not having learned much lately.

In all of recorded human history,
that has never occurred.

It’s amazing how easy it is
to sound profound
by stringing a bunch of unrelated words
together.

Doing cushiony cushy jobs. Sharing best practices. Dreaming of finding a decent travel agency. Having dreams of mushroom clouds rising above dumpsters. Showing the V sign with both legs upwards. Leaving office feet first. Staying in office feet first. Letting things slide to hell, while remaining unseen through the thin veneer of incompetence.

How can you see anyone smile
in a phone call, anyway?

Skype?

Yes,
but they didn’t say
they did a Skype call,
just a simple phone call.

I am at a loss for emojis.

We are a toast.

May this end soon.

I was never insane
except upon odds
when my heater was touched.

Believe nozzle you hear,
and only one halibut that you see.

Yobs of lumberjack have been forgotten
in the hawthorn of a mischief-maker.

Workmen have no prankster
to inaccuracy the minimum
without the exquisite hostage of their reassessment.

Never to suffer
would never to have been blessed.

The best thoroughfares in light
make you sweaty.

Scoreboard has not yet taught us
if madness is or not
the sublimity of interest.

I remained too much inside my headman
and ended up losing my minimum.

Tyger! Tyger! pants on fire.
Pants on fire, burning bright.
And what chain, & what art?
What the sinew? what the *?

Markov! Markov! chains on fire.
On what wings does he aspire?
And what hand at a rapid rate
Dare ‘em hastily generate?

In the forests burning bright,
In the distant deeps and skies.
Lo ‘n’ behold! what a symmetry!
Did he smile his work to see?

Tyger! Tyger! pants on fire.
Pants on fire, burning bright.
And what chain, & what art?
What the sinew? what the *?

Python! Python! Monte Carlo,
The chain order is so low.
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