DOT COM


connect the dots; 
dot com and all that.
our electronic footprints,
follow us relentlessly;
forever and always.

and now yesterday refuses,
absolutely refuses 
to relinquish its hold on the now;
fight for supremacy. 



admit nothing; make them earn
a confession. and those fashion
police harassing those poor folk
on corner of bum and bum-luck;
rushing towards rash judgment.

a bit of subterfuge, heightens
one's curiosity. we so do love
our mysteries; even remotely
possible humans will ever
grow feathers, or grow corn
between toes. with all that corn,
am declaring drop in corn futures.
as corny as this is, 
could always be cornier.


DANA STABENOW-THOUGH NOT DEAD




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