When the mind is feeling barren
and the first cup is still full,
it’s time to start some sharin’
with those folks who throw the bull.
Social media jury, that island of pure fury,
has some room at their dock for your boat.
Some favor you’ll curry; there’s no need to worry.
Just throw anything out there to float.
Conspiracies. Black-Eyed Peas.
Get that hot pot stirring.
The dead still live. Ghosts roost in trees.
The black hole between then and during.
The cult of @ wears no foil hat.
The Sect of There hates motion.
The world will end with soup of bat.
There’s space ships in the ocean.
The dark are eating up the light
like breadcrumbs made of stars.
If it don’t hurt, then it’s not right.
And aliens sell cars.
If that can’t get you energized,
then brew another pot.
The chat just gets more super-sized.
Wait ’til you hear the plot.