I hold the cell within my hand,
Frightened not, it’s worth a grand,
I contemplate the buttons and apps.
Finding that I press it more,
As I lay in silence, noise, or bore,
Dom. In eight seconds it can go off,
For eight seconds or until turned off,
The device takes all my energy’s will,
I write today of powerless chill then.
My brain sees notes and vibrating hum in my right thumb,
It’s own televised image created outside from within.
Delineated, cremil thought and weirdness too, sour sweet salty bitterness too. The phone of self or celf or cell phone mobile, poo.
Mute. Can the hushed be unmuted, the language unfruited, can a device so expensive define our polluted~