the digital footprint
a modern record.
how we keep score,
as we move forward.

hieroglyphics,
poetry and sonnets,
philosophical teachings,
those things so far from us,

yes, they’re quite the same.

only now this time,
it’s constantly flowing
through a digital frame,
in a different way.

the humour
the laughter
the delight and wonder
the experience of human nature
we truly never change

we’ve kept score
it’s all the same

our existence in the world,
being noted,
being recognised,
to show we’re here;
we existed.

we experience.
we observe.
we reflect.
we create.
we document.
we remember.

like those moments,
like those eras,
like those people,
from before.

we learn about them,
day in, day out.
we learn from a distance,
removed from those times.

yet, living a life
near identical.

just in a
different
shape.

at a different
time.

we are the parallel,
we are the reflection,
we are the consequence,
we are the continuation,
we are the mirror,
to those who came before us.
they are part of us.
they may even be us.

so, we do what they do.
we do what they dreamed.

the impossible
from their eyes.

…now so mundane to our eyes.


a new frontier
a new facet of life.

the digital footprint
a new proof of life.

the new dark age
heart goes out
world goes up
all due to a love of concrete
and iron indignities

buildings grown in the heartland
steel your future
wrap your face in a foreign flag
make it medieval
so fear and superstition
can live on each floor

from above the cityscape
blueprints of a pinball machine
a train to nowhere
like candles on a cake
that will burn someday
when least expected

ladies against the glass
of morning commutes
show too much cleavage
to people on Sunday
gentlemen with their death sticks
conjure the factory smoke
poisoning a life of leisure
these infinite vistas
continue to rise
elevation well in hand
stitched together
but growing apart

the biomechanical soul
a species out of control
mother solitude and her
modern failures
take the stairs to the roof of her mouth
progress leaves an echo
her final words are
empty, foreboding
and full of lead

My mother has a new relationship!
After the death of my father,
I wondered if there’d be another -
When we meet up, in the morning, to go walking,
She shares about the back-and-forth chats, that stimulate her mind, heart and spirit…
I wonder who he is…
Is he tall?
Is he dark?
Is he handsome?
He is none…
He doesn't speak, or interrupt,
But grows and challenges her;
Together they formed business ideas and
last night they formed a new nation?!
Who is this ‘ideal’ fella?!
ChatGPT!
Technology meeting the needs in this day and age —

buzz, buzz
the bees used to sing
tweet, tweet
the birds would call

media does buzz
twitter does tweet
the worthless leader
who's would does crumble
with one critic
to their fragile identity

buzz, tweet
phone, twitter
the old World does know
simplicity has power
gone will it be
just as the bees

It struck me,
When my phone asked, no, demanded—
To back it up,
How machines claim their needs...
Sometimes, more often, than not,
better than we do!

it’s mine.
swaddled in a down embrace
my Outlook
changes
the air, muggy
carries the high-pitched
alerts
of chorus frogs
i need not respond.
a solitary fingertip
illuminated
s
c
r
o
l
l
i
n
g
blue burned eyes
resisting
sabotaging
The Day

First, you draw a square,
inside it — three more.

The one at the top
serves to control.

Lead a line down,
and connect the block —

Memory matrix
is what it’s called.

Draw a line,
then add some more —
and you’re almost ready to go.

There’s one last block
that’s set to show:

Call it the decoding central,
so we know what it’s for.

Give it some lines
that lead out right —

And now we know
what’s inside RAM...
right?

a hot summer night.
the world was a kiln
and we were clay,
hardening, sweating,
baking in it.

I walked by his door
and saw him—
left wide open like an invitation.
he was sleeping.
my father.

curled up in the fetal position,
no blankets,
just underwear.
the room dark
except for the faint
glow his iphone
lighting the back of his head
like a halo with low battery.
his iPad in front of him,
casting a pale blue wash
across his gut.
he looked like he was
plugged in.
dreams streaming through
a USB cord.

he looked so tired.
vulnerable.
like a deadweight puppet
left on stage
after the curtain’s dropped.

like he wouldn’t survive
whatever was coming next.

like he was still
just a kid
from small-town North Dakota
who wanted to fall in love
and did
but that mother left
years ago—
quiet as a predator
cutting his strings on the way out.  

and now he doesn’t
know how to move
without someone
controlling him.

so he just lies there—
the man
after the werewolf’s gone,
sleeping off the transformation.

breathing hard
in the electric glow
of a humming digital womb.

AI echoes rapture, sin follows fall.
Apple divides permanently. Feet
washed masses kneel. Technology
bleeds incessantly. Judas whispers
secretively. Cheek turned, swollen
red and twice-marked. Snake bite.

Phone: Adam's rib. Our monastery.
8 billion serpentine invocations tempt
slyly. Double-footsteps tread
sharply. Sun bright, all-encompassing.
Dagger's thread cuts warming
wind. God's breath. Now dead.

Meek misers collate heaven's earth.
Inherited wealth un-dispersed.
Blessed persecutors revel. 'Number'
signifying the eternal. Apple divides
permanently. Bread now spread
thinly. Hoard expands needle's eye.