It is remarkably easy
crossing rivers, over the grass
that is submersed. I walk across
the bridge and turn, see my vampire
friends shivering and swearing there
typing fragments of disgust at
this thing which flows on and never
likes or retweets anything. Wow
I say, just wow. Come on over.
They can’t. Their undead hearts pump blood
borrowed from moment to moment
from various devices. Who
am I kidding? My thoughts are run
through with desire paths. My
thumbs are tired and I can’t think.
I try press the river into
service as a question, a graph
an interesting friend, a text.
But the water keeps on going
and eventually cracks out
of my phone screen, as I walk on,
fizzing like a burst pipe, I sigh
and my clothes are drenched. Their toothy
grins follow me, as I trudge on