G.P.S.

We will all be mere cloud phantoms someday
To forever anon comment and post
In the proficiently lightning fast way
Of an incorporeal angel host...
Shimmering, fiber optically clear,
With new transmissions of immortal thought
Like the Mercurial dreams we revere
More than the old fashioned grace we forgot
When ironclad maxims ordered the mind
Into some warped Mercator maps of hate,
Where the inflated frontiers are unkind,
Because it takes a globe shape to be great
And to recycle the phantoms and clouds
Into more pleasingly positioned crowds.