Old Monk

A rectangular 15 inch world.
I delude myself with company..
Virtual worlds of partial associations and half truths.
Flashes of orange on windows that speak?
A sad grey of invisibility.
A click and a contact. Do I ever see them?
A link and a like. A picture and a comment….
A fiber and a world of twisted bondings…

Night sky…
Not black…here it comes with an orange tint.
Stars. None. They hide behind urban miseries.

What is this?
A rum induced stringing of words?
A run towards futility?
Loss of writing syntax?
No not poetry…

Jack and Jill…rhyme rhyme rhyme…
Why?
Maybe they should have stayed up the hill….
Doomed to a forever of falling down.
Why bother?

A break for more…
A wait for words to gather anew.
Rum. Water. Mix mix…swirl.
A medium lost and a habit being discarded.
Absent smoke.

She said….
Spinning. Spinning. Spinning.
A giant shadow. Small ant.
When will they fly?
Perception…gone wrong or found again?

A monk trapped in a lorry…
Chased in plurals.
Hidden in crates.
Pass a bus window...
And a mind that trips over to lost times.

Wait again.
Familiar blanks? Why write?
Someone reads…no one cares.
A paper clip scratches its head.
Confusion?
A programme that fails to make its way through the mire of mortal nonsense.
No binary ones and zeros.
No flowcharts to follow.
What do I do?
Save?
Exit?
The angst of a digital existence.

The three musketeers.
Too short a life shared.
Why did we begin at all?
A world so full…
They cursed us into unwanted changes..
Miss it. Mourn it. Remember it.
Sepia toned photographs?
Carry it around…
Weigh me down and bring me back to the surface.
Come back? Please?

A chrome death.
Temporary but.
A wait that chafes….
Tell me what you think?
Your words lost…your thoughts gone.
Quote Bretcht.
Quote Plath….
In another’s words….
Just tell me what you are….