To the editor who instructed me to cut my last stanza
When my UTF code points are racing full throttle I don’t even hear your dominatrix infixes as I pass by
And when my booster rocket has jitterbugged me into the highest strata I don’t stop, I tell you, till I’m biting moondust
And maybe even a nebula boasting a candy cane fellowshipDon’t tell me I’m too tiny to crash soundwave symposia
too attenuated to blockade Philistine actuarials I accost other people with my tannaitic insights ambassadorial I don’t stop, I tell you, till conspiracy theorist ziggurats crumble
And there are dancers I gently unwrap under the strobe lights