Everywhere I look I see vanity
No matter how much I want to avoid it
I turn on my screen & it's staring at me
Every scroll is another one, head full of air with perfect skin. I don't fit in.

It's unreal, the world

of the screens, you live in it --


like Don Quixote.

The mundane creeps into me,
as I try to wade away ashore
with my precious sanity.

The rooster's asleep too,
like me at daybreak.
Yet I drag along, nevertheless.

The screen's my public now,
and home's my ever-morphing
dreamland, that never ends.

My limbs yearn movement,
lungs yearn the breath of freedom,
minds crave the travels.

The dreary present dawns into me,
as my heavy eyes drift into
the lands unknown, unvisited.

i am Orpheus in the clouds
playing clown for the masses.

i'm half of the shaft of light
breaking mosaically into
millions of pieces across the kitchen floor.

i'm a smoky chandelier swaying with
the bravado of a censure on high-holy-day.

i'm the royal velvet lining your blood.

i am a poem, without reason, read to you
by a stranger.

i am 200 tons of cracked granite one thousand
feet above you splitting off from the face of
the mountain.

but more so than any of that,

i'm a peculiar kind
of nothing

typing words onto
screens before
i die.

Nobody cares anymore.

Money makes the world go round
Not the orbit of the sun.
The universe doesn’t matter anymore.

They say that we should keep our eyes wide open
But their eyes are glued down
At the screens that feed them information

Whether it is true or false
We don’t know anymore
We just go with it since we know no better.

As you get older
You accept the world
Instead of questioning it like you should.

So many things you could do
But you are cut off from it
Your eyes are blocked off behind the mask.

I wonder how many miles
Our thumbs must have scrolled
On our screens.

“Look at the moon,” they say
“Of course,” they reply but once they sit outside
They are back to scrolling through their phones.

“Slow down,” I want to say
“Everything will be okay.”
But everyone keeps rushing all the same.

They ignore the skies
And instead find their gold
In cheap, plastic, machine-made stars.