Living in the forest of men
The trees don't provide much cover for
Aerial attack drones, abuse, misogyny, hate, ****, modern slavery and war of course
war and all that entails

The thicket is thick with thick men all going about their business
Cutting down this and that, making it tidy with machines and consuming everything that is consumable

Tribes meet in artificial boundaries called borders
Sometimes they talk about common gods they worship
If not they sometimes they bludgeon each other to death

They call it "Ethic clearing'
Getting rid of the tribes that cause trouble
For the greater good

Occasionally females of the species quietly come in
They talk and agree direction for what needs to be done

The forest of men don't listen to them of course..yet
But what they do restores some form of order to the chaos

White ear-pods in, society out
Living in a cocoon of sound
Cushioned from interruption
And deaf to everyday communication

Smartphone on loudspeaker
Holding it like a defiant torch or gun
Marching defiantly
Oblivious to the self enforced broadcast on the street and in shops

AI auto corrects my grammar
Like a bad teacher changing the sentence meaning
I consider changing it back but decide that
Digital wins and I give in,
Elon can have my words
Back to solace, back to pen and paper

After the storm the mist forms over Mussenden.
A cargo ship appears to sit still in the bay.
Lit up like a landing beacon at night.
Hardy souls on board.
White sea horses rumble over kelp strewn shores.

Wagtails dart over basalt towers
The strand with it's white sand round the corner.
Donegal, hidden by dreich looks like a far away land.
All is quiet.. nothing to report...calm returns.

Notifications come in..
'Your iCloud account is full'
'Your Google account is full'
Full of what.. I wonder?
Bits and bytes of memories
Some of which matter, most of which don't
Data cooking on servers, data cooking the world with heat

Handle won't move
Drawers full
Wardrobes full
Full of what.. I wonder?
Clothes that haven't been worn once this year
Shoes that lie dormant in little door mice boxes
Decent covers for others that need them to stay warm

Fridge door is stuck
Shelves are full
Cupboards are full
Full of what.. I wonder?
Good fruit, tinned meat and veg that I sometimes eat
But mostly goes into recycling
Fuel for hungry soles

I stutt..er, words can't come out
Synapses stuck
Brain is full
Full of what.. I wonder?
Media junk from many screens
Mostly *******, occasionally useful
Negative rhetoric filling valuable spaces
Brain fog and digital clouds, clouding the future

Unexpected September sun
Beaming down settling, settling, blinding between leaves
Pigeon sunbathing, motionless head down, comfortable, mulling over something nice
The leaves are almost done
Steam rising from the wet laundry on the line
A change of view... and it's gone

I want to be a nice narcissist
perhaps a mediocre misogynist
being comfortable being uncomfortable
maybe a polite and pleasant *****

In my world I
control everything
my destiny is written 'n
your value has been calculated 'n summed up

I am the author of your future
Trading you for something else is modern day barter
converting you into money, a simple task and honey trapping your friend into a
pyramid scheme just a wave of my hand.

my confidence is soaring
don't threaten me with your matrix media
your questions are not relevant
my questions are your mandate

you have to listen because I love you
I can give you what you want
take you from your broken body and make you my creation

I have become a figure of hate
no wait.....
fk this, fk this, I'm no Andrew Tate

La Coste cap, Gucci glasses, Mr Porter white trainers
Snapchat, Whatsapp, Insta
You've been sending me messages
About who you are
You're the I in 'SelfIe'

Charity shoes, bland jeans, non branded gear,
Talking, smiling, laughing
I'm sending you my response
About what I value but you aren't listening

Earpods in, zoned out
You're not even attempting to listen to me
You'll see I'm comfortable about being uncomfortable
You are connected, I'm disconnected
You want more, I want less

Where does your message thread connect with mine?
Which bit or byte do we sync on?
We are both heating up ends of this silicon
But when will we hope to share an emoticon?