It was code
Before the
Coders blew in

And caught a code
And sneezed over
The city
Strands of
Digital tinsel

So shiny
So bright

It was code
That cannot
Be decoded

Nor can it be
Removed by any
Number of anorexic
Keys meant to pick
The locks of our homes

It was the code
That were our mother’s
Recipes that were too
Precious for paper

Or digital fingers

Code that can’t
Be bought, sold or

No matter how
Much snow is
Planted on our

Or crucifixions
By landlords decreed
By greed

It’s our


(C) 2016 Tony Robles


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