In the undercurrent, the program is running,
computing its methodical calculus, equation
equaling what I like today, which some days
is too many pictures of birds – tropical, wings
blue over the red crown of holy feathers,
the masked face of yellow, the Jurassic talons,
some prehistoric me memory needing
to see their images one winter afternoon
after weeks of uncoloring, lake effect snow,
so now everywhere I go are parrots parroting
me. Yes, I know they track my every move,
crafting ways to target links for each weak
chink of armor. But do you know I can’t scroll
for meaning without going mute? Can’t scan
the blank page of the sky to dig through
the wormhole of its secrets if never outside?
Myself, I prefer my sources to sweep in
like wind whistling through antelope canyon,
sharp scent of sage in the air. I prefer wine
so dark it carries in its darkness rumors
of the great mysteries. I want to look god
in its many faces and demand the answers.
I want to walk across the bridge of the world,
live in a way that makes it a little bit better.
But I bet the script didn’t catch that, either.
So tell me, now that the machine is learning,
can I purchase what is no longer in stock?
I want to see the universe in a focused ad.
I want the numerical value, the cost
analysis, the price of what I want to buy.
