Ye of selfies, gifs, and memes
that upvote rhymes and human beings,
dance with me to the piper’s pipe:
the day is right; our time is ripe
to light on fire our inky ranks
of interwebs and thinking tanks
to spread the word of wealth and cheer
for even the 1% to hear.
Come hither now; let us be free
from cubicle walls and drudgery.
(You get through the day as a faint reflection
of yourself in the night on your internet connection.
A handle is a cleverer version of your identity;
a screen name is a deflection of who you wish to be.)
Lo, then in the evenings,
Let us lay aside the garments hand sewn by our younger sisters,
uniforms representative of the servitude of the world;
e.g., work shirts, shirtwaists, waistcoats, and retail smocks,
and may we instead
be frank with our families–
may we be honest with ourselves,
i.e., the underemployed,
about what our wardrobes really mean.
Sign in tonight then
shedding your work shirts, shirtwaists, waistcoats, and retail smocks,
steal toed boots forged by
and your biweekly 1:1.
Lay your armor down.
Let us join together knowingly
and march free, nakedly,
fleeing textiles’ slavery
uniting the interwebs
and the inky streets of [virtual] reality,
spreading synchronous unanimity
by making direct eye contact on the sidewalks,
across restaurants and bars,
and in trenchless wars.
Ever noticed how wars are good for the economy?
We find ourselves here upon great introspection
to light up the night with our internet connection.