What if this writing was composed by an algorithm? What if my fingers never pressed down on the white symboled squares that sent a signal to my bright screen white lighted with the sticky smooth texture of a digital page. I could probably get someone to analyze everything I’ve written. I could get them to put every word and sentence and punctuation mark into a grinding mill wheel of ones and zeros that create a paste-like substance rising on its own from the yeast that I’m breathing in. Let’s bake this into a loaf and serve it out to the internet searchers armed with SEO flashlights, illuminating the pit of online poetry. These metaphors are added and the next loaf shows unconditional love with an extra long right mouse click. Options and romance and sacrifice and boxes and pain and icons. Iconoclastic gestures become memes and memes unite the ravenous millennials into a frenzy that tears down power abusing technocrats. The Kratt brothers filled my head and emptied my satisfaction of here I am right now and that’s okay. The taco bell meat hose of ennui pumping preservatives into someone who saw Y2K before puberty and now can’t sit still long enough to make AN art but that’s what the mill wheel is for.