The Cowgirl Manifesto:

There are bones of a poem   
which tug at heartstrings
And jerk tears from his eyes.
A medium since lost to algorithm and mechanical emotions.

As he reads further, it’s a list.
A to do.
Some instructions, yelling - 
Don’t look back! You must never look back.

To act without conscience, 
Free from loyalty to any movement.
A way of life to live for himself,
Always reaching for the highest shelf

With no possibility it could be any different
He denies that he plays any real, held part
The Red Sea like Moses - a divine child he’s told
By parents whose intentions are humane

Death is questionable in a world where
We aren't taught to question
What we are taught, is to consume. 
That we are prized, heroic pieces of a puzzle

That we are autonomous
And that they are wranglers
But there’s no mention of the Big Picture
The big Ranch, or the Big Data

This human centric perspective
Developed through lifetimes of inconsequential 
action toward an inevitable destruction
of our beloved mother

We coral information
With no respect for its’ matter
Its’ subject matter
The substance of matter
The quality of matter

Matter as a physical, and as a digital
As though the two aren’t interconnected
As though the digital is independent
As though the essence of digital is so different to that which we can hold

His essence has been removed,
Whether he likes it or not
Without the wind, or the rain, or the sun
What’s really left?

The night
Where magic happens
People become shadows of themselves
Faceless, nameless, sexually liberated

But for him there’s a yellow fog
It rubs on windows, licking it’s tongue into the corners of his evening
Haunting him, he walks faster
He must beat the night home


Be safe in bed
Curled up in the bosom of his wife
Where he can dream:

She is benediction 
She is the root connection
She is connecting with me

He acts
He withdraws
He imports money into his drawers 
and calls it a looong day of data

He takes the money as a bonus
And that’s the worst part,
He takes

And there’s no giving back,
There’s no looking back
To look back requires questions
A discreet quest for more.

The idea that it’s each man for himself
Forgets that the value of a group
Is greater than the sum of its parts

And if we’re all part this
And part that,
I’m part Cowgirl and you’re part me
Then we’re all just Cowgirls
And we gotta sling too