A world of thumbs.
A world of indexes.
We are the virtually enlightened generation.

up & down we scroll,
in search of company.
Facebook our friend !
We are the virtually enlightened generation.

Right we swipe to match,
Left are just left.
Internet our hope for love.
We are the virtually enlightened generation.

All the knowledge of the world,
Just a few taps away.
Google the Truth !
We are the virtually enlightened generation.

A world of thumbs.
A world of indexes.
We are the virtually enlightened generation.

Kaleidoscopic Whorled Wide Web.

Against light source well crafted
tubular structure appended with eyepiece gazing
offers viewer eye-opening, mind boggling
instantaneously birthing then vanishing
resplendent myriad colorful geometric

awesome shifting shapes hypnotizing
sight seer into a whirling ******,
where multifaceted fractals display pin-wheeling
arithmetically perfect  triangulate squarely
with proportionate arcs astounding

with blind faith on microscopic scale
analogous to cosmic big bang spell-binding
mankind from time immemorial when
her/his gaze turned heavenward peering
into the azure vault – one macrocosmic

hint per the origin from when on-looking
proto-humans ruminated inscrutably
enamored at the spectacular eminence grise
forever holding mystery of
universe evolution in shrouded secret
continually mystifying one generation

after another until twenty first century astro-physicists
begin unravel evolutionary tale
writ small on planet earth yet storied tome
pried open from scientific revolutions
enabling birth of cosmos honed with more

fine tuned precision to zero in
on precise second whence explosion filled void
with nebulous material coalescing
into rudimentary galactic masses generating
vast surfeit of globular structures evincing

conically swirling
millennially futuristic clear cut entities
upon which one – namely gaia
finds this sole member **** sapiens
reveling in his makeshift primitive contrivance

teasing ocular sense with visual *******
begetting thought provoking questions
into this eternal wonderment
that perchance some intelligent deity
willfully rotates planet like some plaything
synonymous with mere mortal peering
into magic of kaleidoscope!

Silent friends
Carefree Strangers

Online/Offline

Let us write our stories  
Reckon all moments
A passage to self-reflection  
With a display box of grandeur,  
Fingers on a key pressed,  
Levitates a search in no time,
Way out of the crowd  
Quiting a reality to roam and wander  
Nothing is outside, all within  
A big circle of virtual connections,  
Without months of eye contacts  
No face to face,  
Sending empathy through e-thoughts

Having a common ground,  
Hope to run faster than Terabyte,  
We love seconds more than a minute  
WiFi made all worth living  
Sending signals to the soul  
We will feel it, anyway.

this mere mortal frequently feels:
   a. like joost another brick in the wall
   or b. feels comfortably numb while alienated
   in this condemn nation
with the sounds of silence

   written on the virtual subway hall
n wishes he could escape
   (like that eponymous spoon
   running away with the tine e fork)
   2 the dark n far side of the moon
   jumping without Humpty Dumpty fear 2 fall.

joost as an *** side (wit me only intent 2 *** till late)
   let me playfully close this email by readily admitting
   that voluptuous women with plenty of junk in the trunk
   (or 2 employ more outdated term zoftig)
does readily prompt a top notch rating of google times ten

   for those queen of denial big a$$ bot tum gals
   who possess buxom build plus smart n able 2 understand
   how 2 cosign via trig
anyway, for your edification, i wish for nada qua non
   one snarling day vid growl joining me
   in monogamous ****** gig
which latter mental ability

might not in the least matter 2 moost men
unsure if my poetic reply you will find *** abominable bore
   or be prompt an oh bomb in a bull barrack 2 dig
   this common joe just biden his time
but in a nutshell with no intent to be impolite,

   mine eyes (no surprise nor insult meant)
favor gals whose ***** happens
   2 be outlandishly big
   in tandem to the searing roe bust english language,
   which this simian i.e. **** sapiens doth adore.

from::the fool on the hill, who lives along
abbey road near penny lane
across the street. Eleanor rigby, Mister Kite,
the virtual nay burrs o this human grain
plus Norwegian wood, the latter actually a great dane.

postscript:
words my (ahem) pen ultimate live aim
while trying 2 steer clear of reese sieving a wagging
   virtual finger in blame
neither at some fellow nor destitute dame

since chance circumstances of existence akin to being frozen
   in some space/time paradigms frame
attempting to extricate our selves playing lifelong game
which message offer in this poem rather lame.

email moi, which means
   applying cerebral muscles to flex
fire off a brief bull a tin i.e.
   preferably a brief text
    to TRACFONE NUMBER =
215---370--8929