Tell me again about tweaking the algorithm
so that streets turn into symphonies for ukuleles
and roller coasters line up to spin us
though the old neighborhoods
where our past sells lemonade curbside.
There are moments of madness in each of us
that some can't say enough about.
What do we talk about when we talk about us?
Everything? Anything? Nothing?
The tide turns just when we think
we are home free, when virtual hills
challenging our identity flatten as one who knows
about things cardio has told us.
Regardless, let's give it a shot.
Who are we to downplay the Hallmarkian tentacles?
At this stage, it doesn't matter.
Perhaps at an earlier stage we thought it did
and were trumped into thinking out of fashion
and that has obviously made all the difference.
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| Anja Niemi |