Thursday, November 12, 2015

Day 10 - November PAD - Technology/Anti-technology (3 for two-for-Tuesday)

       Techie Trek

         We’re marching off for good
         We’re marching off for glory
         We’re sitting at our screens
         We’re tapping out our story
         No longer feel the sun – no
         need to hear the rain – all
         the world is streaming live
         our flesh-blood tech’s gain
         Hard to leave the access of
         myriad manic possibility
         wrenching to return to a
         tactile linear reality
         so watch the toddler
         in the tide, convene
         with covens of mystic
         friends you now hold
         dear – nothing to be
         lost – nothing here to
         fear – for
         We’re marching off for good
         We’re marching off for glory
         We’re sitting here in shing glare
         We’re screening our life story –

an oxymoron
the ubiquitous touchscreen
feeling not a thing


         she fashioned a life to
         live in quiet walking in
         her head by the sea in
         glorious lush languid sigh-
         lence – drinking coffee iced
         or steamed as care and cli-
         mate suggested – and so it
         was – though books shone
         through screen light and
         binging watching television
         a new magnetic attraction –
         her words flowed not in liquid
         ink but on bright screens at
         fingertips always clean – she
         sat inhaling ions – under the
         glare and when she inter-
         acted it was all screened
         brightly until her eyes seared
         and stripped burned – until her
         fingers trembled with tremor
         as the all embracing light
         turned magnetically malevo-
         lent and she reached for actual
         aluminum to fashion herself a
         hat to protect herself from the
         terror of too much, too bright,
         too near, too bloodless, scent-
         less ephemerality reality –
         slipping through cracks
         of sunless light
         and in the still
         she sits alone
         tin hat on head
         waiting for life
         to reboot –

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