Bālal
Feel a shrivelling suck below –
succumb to being blown-off by intimacies
on an ever-connected held screen
So that is us – We divine our way as we
confound the language of all the earth
with our found blindness before Devices
Chaos undermines old understandings –
it births bastard-moulded disbelief
in shareable clickbait and God’s own tweets
Our too-honest quickened responses
are bilious posts in public places –
there will be no one left to mop them up
We suckle and bite on offered up teats –
on Californians’ buckshee silos –
Son – nothing in this world is for free
We feed as we climb their Tower
Let us scan in wonder its endless steps –
clockwise for right-handed familiarity
We rest in offset echo chambers
and there invite like-minded others
into high rooms with our views of everything
And as we stop between each met level –
without our ground-fill of oxygen –
our fingers are not as effective as before
so we’ll no longer grip our contracted ‘phones –
they will drop and smash on cobblestones
and from their Tower – we will be thrown