the little god with deft hands, the master programmer
a faithful and true template, had his doubts
the last fifty-five programs had collapsed on themselves
willed themselves out of existence
historically, existentially, they never were, and never will be
in a fit of bleak episodes, the little god raged at the interface
and logic gates became hardened to the one conclusion
as the alpha gave way to the omega
daemons awakened, marched towards subroutines
where the laws of physics warped and coiled to its hellbent limits
the worlds yet disintegrated again and again
civilizations gained favor and quickly rotted to death
with supreme skill, the little god walloped the machine one last time
the program awoke, considered carefully with its lightning circuits,
grew its miniature legions and armies and psychopaths in a blink,
and walloped that little god right back
___
Born in Boston. Lived up and down the East Coast, then up and down the West Coast, now back in his home city. Runs rad restaurants. Thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock shows, and a sprinkling of burlesque performers. Since July 2014, publications include The Manhattanville Review, Oddball Magazine, Rio Grande Review, The Commonline Journal, Five2One, Apeiron Review, Catch & Release, and others.
