im standing in the middle of the internet

trying to get a grip
on the ports opening
 in a swiss cheesy
security breach.

the cliche is tronnish
 so let's go with that.


there's tea, tasteless
no matter the flavor.
other items include chocolates
and sex workers. naturally.

working backword, i step carelessly
through matrices and clock speeds
that cluster like the glimpse of blue

above the alps that time we rode electric
bikes along the summer trek-- if the mountains
were lost data and your eyes , the skies.

nothing breaks irrevocably.
that's the beauty of virtual.
everything rerouts  on the reboot
till i'm standing on the outside of nothing