These are my symbolisms,
Scrawled across hashtags –
In this damn-ed modern age.
Nothing but Shakespearean deliveries,
In mockery of my coming for him.
Death threats upon dead poets,
As if their ghosts were still here & haunting,
As one day I hope to be.
No cost too great,
For my species.
Bone dice,

/1

Carving my very self into a legacy,
To hold in finite quantity –
Unto the future.
Best I can do,
Given present circumstances.
Shakespeare…
3500 feels paltry now,
Before the race is even won.
2250 in half a decade,
Now.
Since I started counting.
Purge the decades before that.
Slam Poetry,

/3

On some dark Vancouver stage.
Shakespeare,
Mnemonics have accelerated,
Even still.
But what would you know,
Of linguistics?
Sociological English Theses,
I read in my learning.
Knowledge itself,
Has accelerated.
But epistemology aside!
Some holdover of The Greeks.
Perhaps you might know that at least.

/9

Teaching simple pattern arithmetics,
In my stanza numbers.
You’d know very well,
The Ouroboros.
Jormundgandr,
Most famous of them all –
Good thousand years before your time.
Segregations of knowledge,
Via libraries.
I’ve all of human knowledge,
On Wikipedia.
Your surpassing,
Was inevitable dearest William.

/27

Besides –
I’m much more interested in beating Bradburne,
At 6000.
A man forged in the same war as my grandfather,
Who turned to poetry thereafter.
Trying to create beauty,
After complete destruction.
Death in the millions,
Soon as we billions are to be.
Dear Shakespeare,
Feeble ancient!
‘twixt thy stagnant wastes,

/81

Can you imagine maddened grins?
This crazy cackling,
From mountaintops?
You see unmapped distances.
Frontiers,
Of wood,
Stone,
Sea,
& Sky.
Homefield advantage.
& An Infinite Hunger to boot.
I’ll stand triumphant,
At an end.
Fingerpainting epitaphs,
For my species.
With my blood & ash.
Skookum still.

/243