Dear Google

Dear Google,

Please don’t steal my stuff.  I know you have to feed your infinite

hunger for information, your insatiable appetite for every scrap of

data about my friends, family, shopping habits, intestinal cycles,

sexual desires, political ideologies, coupon clipping appointments,

and kodiak moments.  You have mouths to feed, Google, blind,

gaping, yawning chasms to fill with all the knowledge of the

universe that you can identify, sort, catalogue, categorize, classify,

index, and sell.  The highest bidders are forever gasping, grasping,

clasping, clawing for eyeballs, ever open, unblinking, to beam

banners and blocks of advertisements that beg, demand, command

clicks, taps, and swipes.  We together, Google, are on the Brin of an

abyss and all you want to do is dump page after Page of every book,

screen after scene of every video, and note after note of every sound

into your rumbling, tumbling, churning, yearning stomach

for consumption, digestion, and regurgitation.

My poems, small though they may be, are mine, and mine alone, to

share with the brave and kindhearted readers who have found a few

extra moments in their busy days for a small spark to ignite an ember

in the back right corner of their brains wedged in between that

delightfully funny scene from last night’s very special episode and

that snippet of song you don’t want to get out of your head.

So don’t steal my stuff, Google, or you’ll be in deep Schmidt.

Love and doodles,

Jason