Crossed Cables

yesterday, nothing quite moved, and yet,
sweeping the entire frequency range, well
it’s mostly semantics, but
curlicues of waveform-buzz seem
just to touch lines of sight, and to clarify,
let’s just say I’ve made quite the mess of
the sugar-phosphate backbone, I mean,
for now, leave it at ransomware, unless,
do you ever feel as though no one tells, and so
you continue, a bred-in-bone cartridge blackboxed within the… the…
I’m not quite sure what to call it, for example,
the body is
wholly insufficient, and merely
a dead URL shed from
wetware repetitiously torrented through
a synaptic superimposition you might call,
ok, so not you, but some pack movement of you-
ness spliced single-helix with my,
admittedly quite confusing, syntax, except,
in the becoming-of-us, the data-payload seems
to have set the spines askew, leaving the bracketing of script to
decompose or accelerate the reduction of information into some
intracranial drone, an utterly closed circuit of meat-proxies otherwise
suffused into the day-to-day ganglionic swivel, pivot, and,
well, I want to add hand-hold, but we both know that
can’t happen today, for one, remember, because