‘a red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground, with no one around to tweet it.’ ~the lakes(ts)
the cell phone beeped with a tumultuous wave of notifications,
to apprise people of the newfangled quarts of cynical,
a surplus of honeyed compliments and likes on their newly posted pictures,
a dissection of the pictures to mark their lacks and a casino of demeaning selves.
‘I’m not cut out for all these cynical clones,
these hunters with cell phones.’
and the blinking dull screen seizing peace,
a sleazing conduit of sly hurtles,
houses teeming with seething people hooked to their cell screen..
While books on shelves continue to rust,
burrowed under mammoth eulogies,
the prose of the wise under dust,
while the fools on the screens continue to reign..
‘take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die,
I don’t belong..’
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