by Debra Kraft
Lo, brave soldier, I bid thee capture the screen,
that bright glowing and too oft strobing affliction of daily disdain.
‘Tis a beast born of Bacchus, no doubt,
feasting on words with gluttonous frenzy
so it can vomit in code.
Aye, that monster is a messenger of the netherworld,
imperial domain where data presides
with a language of zero and one,
transcending human thought
and mocking consciousness of self
with forums that have forgotten mighty Rome --
arenas where anyone can be a lion,
and peasants, once flogged, now blog instead.
‘Tis an empire of the ether,
built on debauchery, depravity and
Lo, brave soldier, capture that screen.
Fall not for its trickster ways, for
Kokopelli has formed a kinship with Loki,
and Bacchus has blessed the union,
so when they tempt you with their treasures,
remember the dragon is never far from its hoard.
Aye, point, but do not click until your keys are well ordered;
and then capture that screen using the Power
with a Point.
Soon our tapestries will tell a new tale sewn of lasers
and digitized for bolder color --
no more need have we of needles to prick arthritic fingers.
Lo, brave soldier, capture that screen, but spill not thy ink.
It is more precious than blood.