Shake Down

I stopped using that e-mail
an age ago.
I was distinctly someone else,
someone quite free
of that spam nurturing sham.
Make me in your divine image.
Forge some slant shifted visage
upon a metal coin.
Make a signature upon a crooked line.
Scrub out dirt.
Scrub out years of red neglect.
Make this macrophage account,
account, account, account.
You know the sound of yesterday
is no different from today.
Only the shape down shake down
live to tell the tale.
I’ll take you way down,
down to the waterline.
Down, down down.