D. Avraham ~ Musings

Pressure points

To a serious malaise

Of explosive pro portions

Or anti poor

Sins

Breaking points

To hidden fissures

Hidden beneath the surface

Sir, face

Thins

But body swells

Rushing

Blindly

Stumbling

Forward

Or is it Backward

To some forgotten goal

Was there a goal?

What is the goal?

What is a goal?

Just keep moving

Don’t think

I can

Think I can

React only

Can’t think anyway

Isn’t time

Forward.

Maybe

Progress

Incompleteing now

In competing

For Now

And for none

Orders taken

Arrows fly

Target drawn

The order is what’s important

And the Bullseye

How could you miss?

How, could you miss.

Days fly by

A  time lapse videography

With bits of social media

Littering the cutting room floor

Virtually lost among the dust  mites and bunnys

of i’s and you’s,

Of phads and tubes

An IOU of more permenance

As long as it’s instant

Instead its insistently

Super

Facial

Brook no dissent

Descend into the

Fissure

Breaking points

To

Pressure points

To

Two

Less one

Is none.

Fixture

Fix your

Face

Share

Your

Surface

Place is

Safe

Search

Your Space

In the Cavity of

Pagination

Site failing

Cite the flaying

Hyper-attentive

Mailings

De press the switch

From tabulations

Off

Aren’t we a little

Deaf and dumb

Social media

So shall mediate

The mediocre

So shall we mediate

The dumb d’dumb dumb

And defy

Our numbed senses

Depressing them into a stuper

Of catatonic blahs

De-press the on switch

Re verse your decent

Hold on truth.

Is it live or is it Memorex

Who really cares?

Monk’s Scream is

Muffled by the ear buds

But I can still hear its echo

Resonating

Reason hating

Re-sending

And sharing

/’plēz/ like

Cries to Heaven

Facebook has me in a Faze

Booked Processed

A phrase book for we are

Sentenced to chat

In a text sure to

Miss the texture

And flavor

flay for the camera

And smile.

Move along, move along

There’s nothing to see here,

If you don’t take the time to look

But wait.

No there isn’t time.

We’re late, we’re late

For What?

Exactly.

Don’t worry,

The roses have all lost there smell

Anyway.

Pressure points

To

Breaking points

To

A

Dead

End.

Tags: disconnection, isolation, modern, poetry, pressure, social media

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