Suburban Sprawl

We each had good, green lawns.
Well-trimmed;
manicured.

There was this bit once, I tagged myself
in a photo in front of my lawn titled,
Just mowed the lawn #housework #weekends

It was featured on my facebook page.

We each had one of those, too.
Well-manicured;
quite serious.

There was a time when I used a pseudonym
but I shouldn't misrepresent myself;
luckily facebook had me change it back.

It was the right thing to do.

We each had an online presence.
Tied to our life;
our job.

What you say or do online can impact you
in reality, it should impact how you live,
we all understand that.

It is the small price you pay for progress.

Your Phone

standing with your phone to keep you safe
     with your phone by the window at night, rest it by your sleeping head,
standing with your phone to fend off the awkwardness of life,
     strangers and situations, with your phone on yelp
     what's the best mexican place around here, can't anyone digital help?
standing with your phone in silence, swiping
     with your blue phone in the blue twilight soothing, how you spell gluten?
standing with your phone feeding on information
     with your phone and each hyperlink baby, vine video virtual reality,
     life in six second segments to further regiment the day,
standing with your phone, man, snapping photos
     of the lost, lonely, haggard, privacy deprived fools around you
     with your phone and its hashtags and its thin, cold, warmth,
standing with your phone against the bleak will of life,
     with your phone and its sleek body, its perfect self,
standing with your phone as physical communication becomes the past,
     with your phone and the data that keeps you tethered to scrolling text
     what happens in china, germany, malawi, the united states?
     with your phone and its selected streams, creative apps,
standing with your phone against the paradoxical world map
     moving on with the current, with your phone setting the trail,
standing with your phone to by another phone and another phone
     waiting in line for the next available generation,
standing with your phone as it's boxed and recycled, returned to the cloud,
     marking your life in .1 upgrades,
standing with your phone and clicking send in that bill
standing with your phone and standing alone,
     with your phone as your eyes, as your brain, as your fingers, as your mouth
     as your nose.

Connected

scratch that permalink
for the smell-O-vision
mark up-poison-tipped
shortcut for the next
internet reality next
one thousand minutes
and lost goes our day
for tits and dick in hand
waiting for the perfect cum
shot goes sunset midnight
early morning what's been
gained but there's so many
days 'gene so many days
not as many as there used to be
but still but still my sonny
soon there won't be more ahead
than behind and without and
within over darkened rooms
and just as big as you please
computer screen lights
glare out rainbow strobe lights
tag our mind to the clock
same odd dangling fear
of yesteryear
off go the lights
blank goes the porch
broken blue-back underlined hi-ways
click click clik cli cl--

Computations

walk to the edge of our
information flow
port in//illusory//point out
banks bend just beyond
your archaic sight,
rushing god knows where,
beyond the fold of
cyber-time, locked
on the right bottom
corner of your software eye,
imagine an endless
waterfall of numbers
surface tension
shark blackness
covered up tearing
at the sinew of relative
computed reality
a system without heads
or tails, there is no opposition
to techno-organic process,
are you riverrun to
ouroboro fiberoptic
veins tied in figure 8s
bent to mobius strip lights
this sigil stretching across
internet space touching all flesh,
consuming all parallel lives?

have you hit Y/N to proceed?

Watch television on your phone

screens lined up,
they pace behind,
dressed in army
fatigues threads
of net neutrality,
listen! Hammer
pulled back,
click of old rusted
metal (we forget how
reality feels) slam,
a sickening life-like
sound, gun--shatters
over mute settings,
ringing fiber-
optic nightmare
one by one prisoners
lurch forward
brain matter anti-matter
spilling on granny
elevator floors,
a million tv audiences
cry out and silence,
sound travels slowly
so we all type out--

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

they've got models
living in camera-ed rooms
filling screen time,
Hollywoodland time,
reality mojo,
through inner-tube
highways broadcasting
their life force across
miles and cityscapes into
your unlit living room
everyone showing
white sad walls,

you can't help
thinking is that how
we live

but you
can't think it,

it's not allowed,
it's just sex and I'm the star she
says before she takes
out her dick
and before you realize
you've made it to the
wrong room,
made it with the wrong girl,
she's got the gun out
from behind her
cybernetic overcoat
and this window
is gone too,

the virus has evolved
language and pictures
aren't safe

the global village is a lie

it's an execution
of the soul

7,000,000,000 views
7,000,000,000 likes

click to view.

QR Code

dot matrix printed
horror of
lovecraftian design,
technological relic
of the internet consumer
age, unspeakable
doom that came to
https,
unholy gate of the internet
page, the
lurker at the gates
of the
android phone,
the thing that should not
link.

Indigestion

pick up my words on the internet
on the digital sound corner
html stained to resonate
w/ the meme soul

I sold all my ink
to make a living
melted it down for junk,
I mean, take in this battery heat
death is the fiber optic dynamo
running under our feet,

monitor brain needs city sunset
skylines to blow--

a fixed metaphor sub-space context,
the consensual state orgasm-mechanism
rolls down martial law suburban
streets at dusk, warnings on milk cartons,
milk carton joy, words downloaded
by the great Bodhisattva TOR
the mainframe diabetic
shrunken head search engine;

no gods! No gods!

I'm wired for the future,
all veins and hatred,
isolated,
gurgling singing laughing
mistakenly, giggling
on upset space-time collapse

our god is a cloud
a cloud is massed information
is untouchable reality
is subjective truth.

Plug in

Quickly to the live feed
stab your brain in and let
the truth in, it's delicious
candy flavored this time I saw the
Jujyfruit advertisement last night
during the sponsored news hour that runs from
12 to 12 on the DOT
just so you don't have to take
a break to think of
something that isn't bleeding
from this thought construct playground,
anyway, plug in, like I said
it's objective reality, only the
real here folks promise, only that which needs
to be said--for your informative
brains, for your information--
interrupting every broadcast
right before the climax
to find some other conflict
some other preconditioned memory lapse,
maybe it'll be better told by
a pretty face--a holographic smile--
a senile whimper, a considerate nod--
let these LCD cemeteries increase the speed of light
beamed down from the classical age,
apathy and entropy and colored
sprinkles on your after-dinner ice-
cream sundae--ordered before the
phone was conjured out of primordial
birth fields--NOW
Quickly to the live feed
it starts any minute on the minute
every minute
NOW

Lock me in my room before I do something crazy

Put a safety on those
staples now, so the kids
won't be able to collect their
papers now, hang the loose
leaf lessons on the roof
in favor of them glowing screens,
they'll erase easier we hear,
work faster we hear, burn
brighter I see, warp those
little hungry minds with
flashing advertisements and
pretty apples a bit sooner,
so we're clear,
get rid of the pens and ink
that scrape and snarl on mashed
trees and go green with
heat sensors and budding rays,
put a safety on all those pencil
sharpeners please, think of the
all the fingers and the kids and me

like a stream on digital paper

Dependent on how fast the cars are driving and here's another thing darlin' they either try to miss you or crash (shattered glass and flesh and bones and plastic all) through your thoughts indignantly washing away the ill pleasures we create every day create and need create for some reason (beyond reasons) behind the kindle where you frown (and an almost pretty face becomes ghastly coated by a thousand years) but unhidden unprotected by such small electronic devices made to spin words out in flat lifeless pages (blinking) page 1 page 2 page 3; has page 1....gone? it no longer exists... to where...I can see you dying or living alittle pixels meet pixels and I blend, wishing to know (if we could lie to each other a moment) or find each other a moment could we- play tricks to see how gray (sad) your eyes have always become.

Hi-resolution

the collected layers of light
pile up like manure on the street,
a cracker-fold progressive wall
stinking of secreted iphoneless ambiguity,
the parcels delivered to each deteriorated door,
fuse with the recipient, glowing green
under false moonlight, exonerated moonlight,
MOONLIGHT and identity,
causing that miniature voice,
what's left of that little animal inside you,
to scream and burrow with red fingers deep underground
into the cool brush, where the clean rivers still run,
unencumbered by grizzly cybernetic veins and
dreamlike memory, that
FADES Fades fades
so quickly away,
and the decisions are calloused surprises
that cling momentarily
to blue flat calming television screens
blasting--follow me--
in HD.

With/Without Our God

The past feeds on itself,
ink burned pixels
cutting around fleshy steel
and we act unscathed
with these magenta wounds
that shift and bleed
like some doctor strange
psychedelic fantasy,

watching the eye of agamotto
trapezing, tumbling
legs over head
falling through this arching
nowhere, dizzy with
hunger,

rain nodding irreverently,
kneeling toward the sky
and praying to find peace
on the ground,
the earthy brown-green
moist crushed ground,

where we walk underneath
the treading feet of
gods long pretend-forgotten,
their wishes too heavy to
acknowledge,
one scowl and the mountains burn
purple-blue, mouth preaching
stern, love-

Adjacent to heaven
we plant our flag
of atheists open-minded
and fleeing the truth,
quoting the blackness of space
through the uninspired beginning,
Our god demanding the sacrifice
of art, love, poetry,
we gladly give away
trading weight for peace
longing for forgiveness,

Place your hand on my forehead,
fever burns with memories
collective memories
laid to waste, blistered by fiber-optic cables
and golden finches,
fed to death with designer cheese
and television sets,

make room for your coffin,
pretentious in death and life,
tear down the walls of belief
for an indulgently clean conscious,
because you found the loop-holes
left all over this text book,
written in the heady ink of
philosophical-hypocrisy,

I hear it raining and
Oh, I know the outcome,
we can be obsessed with magic together,
I'll access the wikipedia to find out how,
then grovel at its inane alter,
one click away and 30 keys,
type faster to measure
the size of your reproduction,
on your miniature screen avatar fantasy,

I hear facebook calling,
it's interactive and concrete,
Although it's not free-
to
watch,
and juggle your response,
google already knows what its going to be,
so it has some suggestions for you, me, us,

So choose 1,2,3,4,5,6,7
what your god asks, demands
without demanding,
you'll gladly go to war for free,
as would I,
by design, all the variables met,
the clever turn,
the acceptance of nothing,
the entrance to the machine
the diffuse eyes and ears and wand,
poking at our bodies,
feeding tubes and remote controls,
the inbred tv guide
grasping our last sexual urge,
browsing the instant queue,
and determining our dreams.