Out a network connection:
An internment, a face book with-
Out a face. It seems like were
Going back to paper, pen, and grey grime.
The blank black screens of my lap-
Top and iPod are like relics, old
Broken screens on a mound of
Debris. It feels like I’m hoking
The bins of today searching for
In thirty years we have only ad-
Vanced to a dump. The laptop
Begins to breathe, reboot,
Then dies. My room resembles
A second hand or pawnshop
In a flea market.
The black screens just look at me
Blankly, the cold sets in and I go
And put the heating on. At least
The boiler bypasses the cold.
So much for the G-force, my skin
Wrinkles the ageing process, so much
Fr the giant leap for mankind.
Looks like we’re going back to the old type-
Writer with ebony and ivory keys
and a ribbon to write my heart of darkness.