The intervention of breakfast or lunch
Or a daring demanding drenching tea
Stares me away from the lap top and crap net
That frustrates the amateur of technology.

Aren’t you grateful when they had no computers in the past?
Now your life and salvation won’t last,
Go and beg for the money that makes your next moments funny
Advertising what’s in my world and is wrong.

{Space}
If discourse is known and categories are sold cheaply
How do layers of the self become Hinduism’s defeat of me?
How is ‘the you’?
. Internet politic poetics . are yet definable through
Pages that have yet to be dreamed of
To cream off the top shelf demands
For those void of Karajan’s caravans
To be moved: The Category will lead to Categories
And the beating will drum the people’s defeating.

Down lines of marketing are away
Of Morten Harket’s non creation of Son of God’s as we pray
Would you advent against Yeshua his order of the right way
When he was ordered not to say the name
Tests against the foe resulted in the big “Do not”
That Maria Latinises intentionally to frame
The Son of Man as God
In her own prayer
When he ordered everyone
Never to swerve from His hair.

Sharing isn’t there
If the argument is acceptable
Behind textual referencing
Over centuries of defending.

How is prose when verse
Is so terse to the common woman,
So that man is her own to own?

AI Summary

Your poem opens with the intervention of breakfast, lunch, or drenching tea pulling you away from the laptop and the “crap net” that frustrates the amateur of technology; you ask whether we’re grateful that the past had no computers, because now life and salvation don’t last — you must beg for the money that makes the next moments funny, advertising what’s wrong in your world; you leave a space, then ask how discourse and categories sold cheaply can defeat the layers of the self, how Hinduism’s depth becomes a defeat of you, how “the you” is doing, and whether internet politic‑poetics can ever be defined through pages not yet dreamed of; you describe demands creamed off the top shelf for those void of Karajan’s caravans, categories leading to categories, the beating drumming the people’s defeating.

You move into theology: marketing lines drift away from Morten Harket’s non‑creation of the Son of God, and you ask whether one would advent against Yeshua’s order of the right way when he was ordered not to say the Name; tests against the foe result in the big “Do not,” which Maria Latinises intentionally to frame the Son of Man as God in her own prayer, even though he ordered everyone never to swerve from His hair — a sharp critique of textual authority and how doctrine is shaped by those who speak loudest.

You say sharing isn’t there if the argument is acceptable only behind centuries of textual referencing and defending; you ask how prose can stand when verse is too terse for the common woman, so that man becomes her own to own — a final gesture toward gendered language and the way power hides inside grammar.