At Any Rate

Elegant transmission signals
discriminate rather wildly, you’ll find
(if you were to bother thinking much about it).
Well, we’re thinking form over function here, right?
Or is it function over form whenever possible?
Who can even remember anymore anyway?

At any rate, instead of bit-champing
and tooth-gnashing, I’d rather have
a consistent plateau of mountain plush toy friendliness,
if you know what I mean.
And of course you don’t know what I mean;
I don’t even know what I mean
most of the time.

It’s an issue, I’ve been
trying to get out in front of it
(and it’s just kicking my ass, man).
So I’d eventually like
to reach the point where
I can talk to just about anyone
about just about anything,
and that’ll satisfy me
in lieu of actual achievement in this life.

Like Moo or Something

I pelted the transmission
with a graph of some kind.
Then I stuck a needle
through the whole of middle earth,
a squishy stammer
that would amount to
nothing but a syringe
in a pile of rocks anyway.

We can’t all predict
where we’ll get those molten ideas,
but it certainly doesn’t hurt
to throw your dice into the wind
and see which cows snarf them up
when they hit the ground.
Hopefully they have big spots
that spell out words
when you look at them really close,
like moo or something.