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Living…

…in a world, gone west-
wardly warped.
So west,
that we, had to, create our own.
Digital downloads,
of, final cuts, so sharp,
from keyboards,
to TV screens,
to mobile phones.

The blind mice…

…are wired,
twenty-four-seven,
and, the cheese, fills,
every rectangular box.
The WiFi speed, denotes,
your strata of heaven,
and, the text message,
has, fallen,
angelically, to usurp, the vox.

But, why, would we want,
to view screens,
over one another’s,
broken-hearted frowns?
It’s the same reason, the only time,
anybody, dares to dream,
is, with, a pillow beneath them,
to, cushion; coming down.

Generational Trauma,
is, a video-game, played out,
“In Real Life”,
since, nineteen-eighty-three.
And, we, are,
“virtually”,
all, virtually connected, now.
But, have, never been, further apart,
in, this; Internetted allegory.

© poormansdreams

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