How can four computers
fail in the same way
simultaneously?

The new version is better, than this year. It was not immediately available. But, it was not clear.

The fact that you have a great day, and night, in my head, is killing my vibe.

"Yes," it was, "the best of luck."

The only thing, would have to go back.

It would mean the world.

The face, of the best thing, about being. The only thing, that would make my own house. And the only one that is not an issue.

It was the first half of the best thing.

I'm not going. I'm at work.

I'm so excited, to be the first half , and the only thing, I don't think, I can see.

I was writing something amazing up until my phone died,
and there's something to be said about the techno-ego-logical sort of life.
But I won't say it now because greater men have said it before;
and surely they'd have no respect for just another social-media *****.
Like how blogging has become such a ***** word,
so let's just call it poetry.
Disguise our senseless needs to vent feelings through rhyme and metaphor.
I've become everything I've always hated.
I can date it back to the day I acquired a smart phone.
But I'll lose no sleep over confessing how it makes me feel less alone.

Electricity
Rushes through her bones as she
Lays her head to sleep.

Energy flowing,
Like straight whiskey down her throat,
Keeps her up at night.

Her pillow is soft
Soft like a summer sky’s clouds
Still, no comfort comes.

She plugs in her phone.
The light still shines in the dark.
She can’t block it out.

No energy flows
As she wakes up the next day
She is still unplugged.

The obsession
takes possession
of my thoughts.

Every waking hour
intent on feeding
Said addiction,

Wasting a wonderful
day’s worth of potential
on pleasures and rewards
that are digital abstractions,

Becoming subtractions
from the quality of my mind,
and my life.

When the phone's at home
I'm a dog
Without his bark-collar on;
Off the leash,
Off the property,
Snapping at gulls
On the beach.
I'm digging up old bones,
Lifting a leg,
Barking and chasing
What crosses my path.

Back at home
I loose my dog brain;
I'm tethered and yanked
By a cellular line.
The yelping,
And begging
Have me pining
For the freedom of
My inner canine.

Sweet knight.
Sweet, silent knight.
I see you when you don't look at me.
You have tired eyes in a castle,
and though you call it salvation,
that blue light wont protect them.
And those hands gloved in mail-
they are not only meant
to grip cold connection.
You may have forgotten
amongst the digital clutter
but your sword is pen.
Quit confusing it with distraction.
Drop your devices and mechanisms
that you use for isolation.
Hold this plea as your new prayer,
even if it's only a whisper.
Make something.
I don't expect greatness,
but when you dress your wounds
in hesitation and use your insecurities
as your armor-
all I can ask is that you make something.
Harness your fear as your steed-
and ride it with ink as you need.
Please just make something.
There are hours in the day spent on
words never said because
those tired eyes are at a stand-still
on a sheet of electronic nonsense,
and you tremble with your shield
of self-doubt.
A block's only a battle,
Don't lose the war to online addiction,
cell phone conversations in meaningless text,
there's more left in your creative conviction.
I see it when you don't look.
Sweet knight,
you are the one in my mind
that is there to save me with your speech
I beseech you,
*Make something.

Disconnected the more we’re connected
Our children are affected and feeling neglected
While our rights to privacy are no longer respected
An idea our ancestors never projected
The transgressions of technological progression
An obsession creating social oppression
A Millennial’s iDol, a prized possession

The sky was weeping,
Her face stained  black,
His fingers receding,
Down her back.

She pushes the grams,
To forget the time,
When Instragram,
Was not online.

He thinks back,
To the days of old,
Where they couldn't keep track,
Of one's household.

What an age,
Since the revolution,
Setting the stage,
For mass consumption.

Data snorted,
She fades away.
Stored and sorted,
*For another day.