by John Kendall Hawkins
.
They're creaming off honey from the hivemind;
it's golden glissy splendor in a jar --
essence of thought spread across the crackers
of the rich and lamest, malefactors
and wankers, Nero and Caligula
crunching Ritz canape's, all small-talk kind.
Fresh sweet honey from algorithm farms,
nectar of emails, zest of Twitter sheep,
Turn It Inà "ž database yum yum theses,
crà ¨me de la crà ¨me of cerebral creasies.
As time goes on we all forget and sleep
and dream of honey combs, sugared barms.
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