The last iPhone

Will people travel one day to see the last iPhone?

By last, I speak of finality, not recency.

Will the final iPhone last?
Will it stand against the sky like the last pyramid,
casting solar-powered shadows across the sand?
Will it stand as a testament to our societal might at organizing labor against its interests,
a monument to slow death constructed on the backs of cheap life?
Or will it just linger quietly,
its legacy cemented classically onto a back page of apple’s online store,
next to the last iPod?

Can pyramids share a horizon?
Can we make it that far?

Architecturally Refined

If triangular polygons are the the atomic unit
of the 3D models in our games,
rectangular ones must share the same meaning
for the premises in our lives.

I ride past boxy plots with boxy buildings,
Reduced in complexity to be rendered more quickly.
Refined such that workers rise up structures
in frames per hour.

Advice

I hear you should shop only while your stomach is content.

Wake only when your mind is rested, they say.

A magazine cover reads in the checkout line:
“10 spring tips to stop worshipping graven images”

But I am hungry,
And I am tired,
And I know at least eight of those tips are recycled.

C-Team Parody: I am the very model of modern Shadow Councilor.

I am the very model of modern Shadow Councilor.
I’ve exhortation entrepreneur, embezzler, and sepulcher.
I know the kids of Rosie, and I etch the runes irregular;
From Maelith and Meiliki’s to K’thriss’ chunk of altar Ur.
I’ve often adjudicated too, on stream polls that were popular,
That determined expositions, both expected and abrupter-er,
About the fate of Chronaar we’re convening with a lot of views
–A lot of views, so many views… oh yes,–
But Jerriford will simply give us options to vote one or two.

Chorus: (But Jerriford will simply give us options to vote one or two.)

I’m very good at comical and narrative analysis,
I know the formal 5e rules on stun-induced paralysis,
In short, on topics entrepreneur, embezzler, and sepulcher,
I am the very model of modern shadow councilor.

Chorus: (In short, on topics entrepreneur, embezzler, and sepulcher,
He is the very model of modern shadow councilor.)

I know the forms of Walnut: wolf, treant, or bear-furious,
I notice Donaar’s sleep schedule, in the cart of Morpheus,
I quote in Ligotti’s voice all of the mission summaries,
In notebooks I sketch maps of Ms. Beestinger’s discoveries.
I can tell unprompted if a roll will fail or beat a spell DC
And I can describe in detail every new Acq Inq franchisee.
When it comes to these teams, I have knowledge alphabetical,
–Alphabetical, that’s one way to do it, yes–
While my influence at large remains largely imperceptible!

Then I can cite a food review from papers Waterdhavian,
And tell you ev’ry travail of the big brains subterranean.
In short, on topics entrepreneur, embezzler, and sepulcher,
I am the very model of modern Shadow Councilor.

At PAX, now I know what is meant by “Omin Dran” and “Chris Perkins”,
Now I can tell by sound a dooring mimic from a cart goblin,
Now such nightmares as poll results I try to be more scary in.
And now I know precisely who is mean by “Secratarian.”
Now I have turnt what progress has been made into tweet summaries,
Now I know more of Donaar than his very special shrubberies.
In short, now I’ve a swaggering on crypts that are wandery,
–Wandery, wandery, that sounds like a good shop name for Percival–
I’ll soon see the Shadow Councillors meet up in a hotel lobby.

Though my momentary knowledge is enjoyable as expertise,
It’s second to the joy of meeting up with couns’lors such as these,
But still on topics entrepreneur, embezzler, and sepulcher,
We are the very models of some modern Shadow Counsellors!

Scrubbing Group

Howdy, penniless barfies who have o’erdrank,
You’re all out of money, and there’s plates in the sink,
That I’d have y’all scrub—as well as the mugs,
Because I don’t like no broke folks in my pub.

But for you, on this evening, there’s great opportunity,
To avoid all those bubbles and help the community.
You see my friend here, the one shaped like a stone ring,
He has also had, more than five, eight or nine drinks,
Though, unlike you, he has the means to pay,
He’s round portly fellow, we all call the DoomGate.

And though he might seem a bit light in the middle,
The stones in the ring start to bling and to fiddle,
And in a few moments he will form a portal,
To a plane home to creatures demonic, immortal,
And I know you are keen to pay off your tabs,
So if the four of y’all could hop between his slabs,
With weapons a’ready and magicks at hand,
you could stave off the evils while my inn yet withstands,
another night yet of some ungodly drinking
where patrons stave off fleeting moments of thinking.

Does that sound fair to you, my pot-scrubbing crew,
Could a rag or a sword each of you wield more true?

We can all call it even, as soon as you’re done,
My poor Scrubbing Group, my Doomgate, S.G. ones.

All-Star Tyger

Tyger, Tyger, skating slight,
But not yet thinner than the ice;
What encircled water warm,
Will mightily embrace thy form?

Does the cindrous globe aflame,
Burn both mine and thine the same?
In the way that I admire,
Without boredom, I seize the fire?

Focus

Focus.
If not focus, direction.
If not direction, misdirection.
If not misdirection, blur.

Speed.
If not speed, acceleration.
If not acceleration, modulation.
If not modulation, flow.

Path.
Don’t chart,
just tumble and stumble
onto
not
into
places you didn’t know
were for you.

Lottery

The Tennessee State Lottery
Is a bargain for anyone
Who needs a daily reminder
God doesn’t favor them.

A two-dollar lesson,
A ward against exceptionalism
Repeated routinely.
God will never let you play to win.
Work for it.

Amazing

Some of the little boys pretend to be Achilles,
Dipped upside down by their mothers,
Screaming that they’re drowning,
In unheelthy invincibility.
 
While some of the little girls,
Can’t let go of being Elsa,
Closed off and locked away
From the terrors of friendship.
 
But all the children on the schoolyard,
Take turns being Spider-Man,
Amazing and sobbing
Over Uncle Ben on the sidewalk.
Surrounded by the other kids
Who pretend to capture the moment
On invisible phones
Not thinking to call for help.

All the stars

All the stars in the sky can’t fuel
The engines of my ambition,
I’ve done the math, and
Will need to tap
an alternative source.
 
With every man a fulcrum
And my tendrils on each lever,
And the galaxies so distant,
My task will take forever.
 
So I’ve started braiding spacetime here
And cutting what ifs there.
And considering hiring a maid from an app on my phone,
Though it makes me a bit uncomfortable.