If you were much lionized
Later no more recognized
Or by some men demonized
Would it leave you traumatized,
Judge it a foul play dramatized;
Have the actors stigmatized:
As Satan characterized?
You must not try the dreadful:
To fight them or other frightful!
Put up you should the easeful
That makes painless the painful…
Your arch smiles now the stylized,
Your movement systematized,
Time for Apps digitalized,
And once again ways modernized…
A thousand words later,
we were still talking.
I know I’m being reflexive,
this humor is a transparent way
to paint clowns on speech bubbles.
Ripostes that ricochet
off any real wit.
"I must be going."
One thousand and forty.
Later ---
the replay,
witty repartee are invented,
not only as late additions
but as inserts, edits
in an ongoing discourse.
Some words still hang in the air,
digitalized like finger bones.
I try to swat them with a rolled-up script,
but they dance away,
electric and blinking.
(I wish there was a big red plug I could pull.
A cut-off switch maybe,
or lips that folded words into origami birds,
each one so perfect that it would defy
misinterpretation).
One thousand and ninety-two.
I begin to cough up these inner dialogues,
to give up on mind-talk.
My only remedy is to count more numbers,
instead of words –
words not spoken.
Facebook, Amazon, Google, and
Microsoft too, are all out to replace
you. They get your information and the
name of your friends. The world
of big brother is really happening.
Smartphones and television are all
listening to your words. Do you know
what they have already heard? Outdoor
cameras and fingerprints, eye scans
for children, woman and man.
The world is being digitized, and so is the
the money we used. Identity theft is
being misused. It's in the papers and in
the news.
Your phone rings one day, and they say
it's you. Now what are you going to say
and do? Can you prove who you are?
Have they gone too far?
You call the bank, and they say you are
broke. You say, "No, it's got to be a joke."
And they say, "No." The human race is
being replaced; other people are walking
around with your name and information
in a new place.
They don't want you to figure this out,
until you learn how to yell and shout.
But, believe it or not, this is only just the
beginning. But the scary thing is really
the ending.
Land of Milk & Honey.
The president has banned the verb “work,” there are no job seekers
or unemployed people, but those who administrate the state are on
duty. Since all is mechanized, digitalized and robotozied there is little
need for citizens to do anything, but receive a monthly card to spend
on food, clothes and other things, and they will be well enumerated.
At last the masses have been set free from the toil of labour.
They can sleep as long as they want, walk in the park or pursue sport,
meet in the evening and read poetry, with the understanding “work”
is not mentioned, ‘cause the state know some poets are insubordinate
and will try to sneak in “work” by calling it something else. If the state
censor find out the writer will be banned from all public gatherings and
not being able to buy yogurt till he repents and writes nice things about
the beautiful colour of plastic flowers, made by a robot called Rose.
It has taken mankind thousands of years to reach this stage of maturity,
and they will look up to the clear blue sky and say: “Truly this is Utopia.”
Typographical phonetics
Minimalist squirt dialogue
Engrossment through corn similar
Unclassified period
Gargling contextual extent
Rapture on the blank
Antagonic concept verbalized
Top Hat
Capital sunset in climb
Plus digitalized volume
Black hole polar mark
Snail-rail gravitation
Reach the over-somandric
Unprinted root stripe
Communication on exponents
Unguided tone folding
Neurotransmission lost
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