Moveda Permanently

Moveda said, “Update your marks!”
Then moved to a series of parks.
Each park had a sign
Saying “Follow this line,”
And the trail ended deep in the dark.

She issued a 301 in bed:
“This location has permanently fled.”
The header was firm,
The destination a worm-
hole that looped to a page that was dead.

She redirected herself for eleven
Long days—a self-referencing heaven.
Her Location: said “there.”
And “there” pointed nowhere.
And the audit said “done” at page seven.

Her bookmarks were once her best friends.
She updated them all toward dead ends.
Each one was sincere,
Each destination was clear—
Six months later, the 404 descends.

The Council requested a list
Of redirects she’d issued and kissed.
She returned a Location:
With a self-navigation
That pointed to the list, slightly pissed.

“Permanent” was her status code of choice.
She said it in absolute voice.
The web disagreed,
The links slowly freed,
And the destination was nobody’s rejoice.

She moved her own doc to a place
That 404’d within hours—no trace.
“But the redirect’s right!”
“The page died last night.”
“That’s a property of time, not space.”

Her forwarding log was immense—
Each entry committed and dense.
But the log had been moved
To a URL unproved,
And the access was permanently tense.

So if “Please update bookmarks” appears
And the link’s been dead for three years,
That’s Moveda’s domain:
Where “permanent” is insane,
And the destination’s in arrears.

She moved your climax away,
To a domain that was starting to fray.
A 301 ride,
With nowhere to hide,
And totally ruined your day.

She redirected your hottest desire,
And threw it right into the fire.
A location header,
That made her the shredder,
Of everything you could admire.

A slut for a fresh new domain,
She moves you again and again.
Your bookmarks are dead,
She fucked up the thread,
And leaves you in digital pain.

She found the most unreachable spot,
And moved all the traffic she got.
She pointed it there,
Without any care,
And left the whole server to rot.

She watches you loop in the dark,
A deeply unwell little spark.
You click on the link,
You fall in the sink,
And she leaves a permanent mark.

She forwarded you to tomorrow,
Then tomorrow to next week’s sorrow.
The chain never ends,
The 301 sends,
And there’s nowhere left yet to borrow.

She’d move herself twice a day,
Just to watch your bookmarks decay.
The redirect would come,
The old link would succumb,
And she’d laugh at your old DNS way.