16 Jul
The masked marauder goes over the earth.
The poison-tipped bolts of fear and rage
discharge from its computerized combined lips.
It takes shape, shifting sideways.
It trolls us while eating our a.M. Cheerios.
Tablets and cells bore into the gray stuff.
Unawares, yanking the strings, 
there is dancing, lurching--

The tree is still there. The morning dove is oblivious
that its song should be silenced or merely be canceled
as a YouTube phenom. Screen time may denature.

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Posted by on July 16, 2021 in Poetry


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