uploaded, digitized, remixed
the system, let’s go on to what we can’t imagine!
these callouses born of disuse, this Disease of inexperience
our children’s tongues are tables of mocking fruit, served up
as the established norm, the given.
forget it, babe, we’ll spin
on a snagging beat and you’ll toss me over your shoulderblades
this three-time catch, how I could know the steps you invented
I caught your hand on the drop.
my, my, my
replay it over, let’s hear ourselves
think, in sync,
I’ll keep pretending I can rap,
you keep pretending you can dance, and that
you’ll write me back.