Inside Beyonce
My dad once walked in on my dream
      Don’t you have any privacy settings
An old man was massaging my scalp in a bath
and it felt delicious, then Dad barged in
                       Buy Pantene Rinse for
       I only have dreams of people streaming
       into my dreams

        Oh wait, that’s Imogen
I’ve blocked her.  Her traffic causes migraines.
         She’s a megaplex of selfies
If she shat out scrabble tiles, she’d have better spelling
         No, it’s Beyonce, I’ve been waiting
        forever to gain access
Is she still alive

      Boring! Beyonce’s just thanking God
      and her ten thousand handlers
I don’t think she’s alive
      The more people you thank, the more you’re worth
I have no one to thank. I’m worthless
     I wish I had a paywall to hide behind
I’d kill myself

I keep his carbon data in a locket
      Your headvoice is oily.  It needs a rinse
His embalmed traffic is inside me
                  Latest news on Pwanu Trafficking  
       I hear they get exiled into their bodies
Gross, my lipids are now viral.

        Can you zoom in
I see human-trafficking ships over an ocean
of dead links, no, they’re fish
       Your Dream Recall is epic
Then I realize I’m in one too but I don’t care
         Is this an ad-free zone
since this old man’s massaging me.

        This is my hometown
I’m giving you a tour of my reverie
        You’re in my reverie
He used to tickle me with his knuckles, it hurt
          That’s my encrypted memory
as if he didn’t think I knew his thoughts,
but I knew, and he knew I knew
       Stop thinking what I’m thinking
that he loved me more than my sisters
       You’re so full of envy, it’s sad
       how you hack into me
which made me feel secretive and guilty
so I learned to train my thoughts into an
ever long performance
       because there’s nothing inside you,
       you’re just a plug.
But I have this pang.
       It’s my pang.