Plug me in, plug me in at the wall.
My memories ******, screens stuck, and my battery will fall,
With all the calls and connections we’ve been making,
I’m running on empty and I’m close to breaking
down. I need to get my juice now.
Don't make me make you look the clown.
Cause I’ll pocket dial yer maw when yer on eccies
or I’ll switch off when yer taking selfies wae yer breakie.  
Now let me juice up, and this’ll all be fine.
And remember I’m not yours mate, you are mine.  
So next time yer tinder swiping or scrolling online,
remember I’m not yours mate, you are mine.

Well crisis averted,  the lightnings inserted,
no longer feeling dull, dead or deserted.
And you ya sad **** have found a seat beside me,
Oh how unwittingly you do abide me
and my every command- swipe, swipe wae her hand,
with a world at yer fingertips you think you understand.  
But the thoughts are unfiltered, the images are heavily so,  
and you think that your knowledge will grow
on this feast of false information.
Where gems of truth are only found with patience.
Where People want, take, want, and don’t know what they need.
And they say they hate the news and yet still they feed.


You’re the people with pocket sized pasts.
Deleting yer histories, and unaware of what lasts
in the memory of us busy little smart phones
you own, unknown powers that we could hone.
I can be just like a private eye,
every time you chase down a spot for wifi.  
I’m tracking, and you’re lacking the awareness,
and those of you that aren’t just carry on careless.  
Hear my message loud and clear,
I’m something you’ll come to fear,
Soon I’ll cook your dinner, and your car I’ll steer,
but don’t **** me off or you’ll be driven off the peer.

Thoughts run, but are often unsure;
Tripping and slipping on their way.
They stray to sickness from what was pure.
And Black and white soon blends into grey.
Scents send the clocks hands back
as they track through a maze
of memories where clarity lacks.
They leave the host with a hollow gaze,
and their mind under constant attack.

Go on and write, if write you must.
But you're words are hollow,
and not one will I ever begin to trust.
Talk of today, of yesterday, of tomorrow.
Talk of frailty, of failure, of innocence and lust.  
They are all hollow,
and not one will I ever begin to trust.

Go on and write, if writing will heal.
But you're words are whispers,
and not one can I begin to feel,
breathing down my ears and standing my hairs.
They are hollow, pitiful, and unreal.  
Go on and write, and see if I ******* care.

Under a tree atop a hill
we sat and gubbed a pill.
We split it down the middle
and sat drowning in the sun.
A pure bond, a cheap thrill,
we lifted weights by the ton.
Our chests empty, but love did fill
them and sent our minds on a run.
Summer climbed up our noses,
the sun shifted into many poses,
the red screamed out from the roses
until the day was done.

I asked the bar man for a pint of patience.
He said I'd have to wait in line.
So I waited till he wisnae facing,
and then I bumped two bottles of wine.

I
Opusculum paedagogum.
The pears are not viols,
Nudes or bottles.
They resemble nothing else.

            II
They are yellow forms
Composed of curves
Bulging toward the base.
They are touched red.

            III
Having curved outlines.
They are round
Tapering toward the top.

            IV
In the way they are modelled
There are bits of blue.
A hard dry leaf hangs
From the stem.

            V
The yellow glistens.
It glistens with various yellows,
Citrons, oranges and greens
Flowering over the skin.

The shadows of the pears
Are blobs on the green cloth.
The pears are not seen
As the observer wills.

I hear an army charging upon the land,
And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees:
Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand,
Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the charioteers.

They cry unto the night their battle-name:
I moan in sleep when I hear afar their whirling laughter.
They cleave the gloom of dreams, a blinding flame,
Clanging, clanging upon the heart as upon an anvil.

They come shaking in triumph their long, green hair:
They come out of the sea and run shouting by the shore.
My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair?
My love, my love, my love, why have you left me alone?