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.