Cruel Blogger

[She Said]

Some say the moon is a harsh mistress, But she's just science fiction to me. My Internet Blogger is some deep sea instead That's dark and dry and harsher still— She said she makes the moon look like a pansy Floating by lightly on carefully lifted toes While you entangle your sodden brain and soul In sailor's knots and seaweeds grown in toxic soil. We're poisoned now, and long have been, That such short shrift as ours now seem long, Too long, compared to such mileau as Twitter and Jitter. Will we go to prison for long-windedness? Though your blog was so easy at first, the hard parts increased Along with your ambition and ammunition, And she eviscerates you with ripping tentacles While you shoot too slow. It's miles to go as she chokes you with suction cups, Drowning you in languid dreams of language code, Hanging you up so high and unconcealed— Making you feel forlorn and scorned or, As the Beatles once sang, like you've never been born!