There are thieves
in the mind, their 
dens in places 
we’d prefer
not to know. 
When a word 
is lifted from 
its spot, we show 
no surprise, 
replacing supplies
with provender. 
Out here, it’s 
the tiniest stutter,
the subtlest patch— 
an affordable loss 
of no significance 
whatever to the 
plastic surface of 
social commerce. 
Should a bit vanish 
from an event, we 
likewise manage. 
But back at the ranch, 
a hoard is building. 
The thieves are 
hatching some 
fantastic plot 
made out of parts 
we’d laugh to think
that they thought 
matched.