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O New York Times paywall,
I shall defeat you. I shall prey
on every weak spot, thread
every loophole, wriggle
my skinny arm into your vending
machine and pluck out
the Style section article
I will skim. I am a python
working my way up
a drain-spout, geometric
efficiency and strangling
want. I see your wall
grow stronger by the day,
stone patched with brick, brick
patched with rebar. No matter.
I am depleted
uranium, buried in you once
at Mach speed and slowly
taking from you day by day,
sipping the vigor in your marrow.
Today it's a piece
on alternative fuels, tomorrow
I flank your rear guard and steal
how Mark Bitmann proposes
I use all these turnip greens.
More than the world and its news
I love taking. Try to stop me.
Secure your socket layers. I will mug
a paperboy, and with scraped elbows
he will only wonder why someone
would take his bag of newsprint
and not his Schwinn.