Mornings

mornings were once divisible by the touch and the caress, by the kiss, and by the hugs,

they were divided into the exchange of pleasantries and smiles, in the trade of intimacies

with others, now they have become lifeless and listless, as the forces of Nature, even her storms,

those harsh winters, the bright and sunny summers become one greyness; the mornings in a word

become a continuum of extended sovereignty and government of the ubiquitous internet

that switches you and I on in the mornings, we are subjects in its domain, its strangle hold

incrassates, so now we do not care for the tree that spans the view, its spindly branches

in abstract drawing close the blue and grey of the storm coloured skies awakening to our eyes

all become, like the blackbird on the wing, an email, a blog, a news digest, a banner a pop

up, our minds are parished by the servers, as the content of those mornings dissolve

in the repetition of the lonely and sad key tap as we the Babes lost, suck on the lit screen

nourished by truths furnished by Cyber liars and our moments across the table with love

enfleshed, in the tingle of the single finger tip the sensation of Life, are now saved for IT.