The Algorithm

A Poem in Seven Parts

I

The Culture War’s turned cold.

It’s an arms race to see
who’s got the least arms
and the loudest speakers
and the widest range of radio waves
(which allegedly move 
like butter on a skillet).

I don’t believe it.

I do believe in the rain though,
but only because I’ve tasted it.

And I believe in the neighborly way,
despite most folks hiding inside
or behind a dermis deep decorum
of pretending they’ve got sense.

Still, I choose not to buy the lie.

And I can see through the relative 
lack of taste, withal discerning goodwill.

II

I think the proxy wars
of this generation
will look less like the Terminator 
and more like an argument
in the produce aisle
about which
kind of lettuce is better,
unfortunately coming to fisticuffs
and ending up woefully recorded
on the latest Samsung Galaxy.

III

They said the revolution wouldn’t be televised.

They were right—it’s being streamed
behind a paywall,
and you might be so fortunate
as to get a front row seat
if you’re subscribed to the Patreon.

But the fighting is had mostly
between chat bots and redditors.

Personally, I figure it’s a
sorry show—a sort of cash grab
in the stylings of Mayweather versus Pacquiao.¹

IV

I prefer the rain 
and the ducks landing
feet first.

Not much more
needed for me there
in the way of evidence.

V

There’s a way to find peace in all this,
and it ain’t fighting.

So, no offense, Mr. Moderator, 
but you can keep your crusade;
I’ll be busy tending the orchard
I’m not supposed to’ve made,
for Whosit on his soapy box
mentioned something about uniformity.

He was wearing a Green Lantern shirt,
and I took that as the sign
of his aesthetic principle,
so I tend to do what I want now
in the darkening light of outside.

VI

It might be the thunderstorm
or the general blindness
seeping in through fake blue light 
to melt your corneas and
render you Milton’s Satan.

O to be a King in Hell,
and b y t h e w a y !
what a lovely place to vacation!

Or, it’s something fabricated:
cloud seeding a Sunday gravy
with no meatballs.

Can you believe it? The humanity!

VII

I think I’ll build my cyber-farm
next to my cyber-gem-mine.

The cyber-town I build
for my cyber-friends
will be considerately walkable,
and we’ll pillage the general store
with cheat codes
so we can drink so much soda
our fingertips fry.

Then,
when we commit crimes
on the side,
there will be no way
of identifying us.

Besides, everyone’s inside.

And really
Nobody
seems to care.

1. iykyk