I've spun electrons since I was two,
Smoked a finger almost like Franklin,
I could easily imagine a key on a kite string,
And flying kites is a joyful bit of wistful magic.
I've flown phone calls,
And kept the internet humming,
Now I'm learning all about twisting bits,
Logic pretzels if you will,
As twisted as this ol' brain.
But to keep a career in what I've always done,
I have to become certied to nine levels,
Though most of the world thinks it's black magic,
See all the pretty blinky lights?
My head is so wrapped in this world,
Though life is warping by outside my bubble,
It's like a black hole,
Or maybe Hotel California.
Maybe the poetry Gods can sneak me out for a minute,
But the event horizon is pulling,
By: Daniel A. Stafford