Immersed
in speed limits we accelerate
and your picture is in the paper now, but the paper is a screen. We do things.
silly people have dreams while chewing gum
and talking to grandma.
She's on the smartphone; but never in the flesh, lately...
it's a drag she's getting the hang of the ****** thing
and you feel guilty like pink noise
and you wear ear plugs
you found on E-Bay
on purpose.

just everyday,
you might not be there.
you have a knack. we are the virtual celery, snapping at world's end.
burning down the up draft of a wind shear
specks in trouble
just everyday, your cyborg's heart is off center
now the center.
and your picture is never coming back
alive.