After Walt Whitman
I assert myself and sing
on the platform of my making.
(I am large, I contain platitudes.)
And what I believe you shall believe,
for every thought belonging to me as mine belongs to you.
A child said What is the web? searching his phone without looking up.
How could I answer the child? I do not know his number?
I guess it must be the invention of the military, out of defensive stuff woven.
What do you think has become of the young, old—and, of course—middle aged?
They are alive and well somewhere.
Even the smallest like, post, or Candy Crush invitation
shows there really is no end to us.
Photo credit: Arjan