Poem: Cyber

 

Cyber

 

romance is not intimate,

intimacy is not touch.

my fingers serve the center of a screen,

 that fake fulsome stare,

glow of the ethereal real.

spine, neck, arms, face

propped and pert, alert as ninepins,

while the pixel-pixie simulacrum,

avatar in photons, young and lusty,

doesn't really strut, doesn't truly pander 

to orgasms-lite.

 

meanwhile 

outside in the world, somewhere or other,

fearful tides of swift implication, 

Earth's brute vicissitudes, 

invoked by waves of mighty ignorance,

rave on.

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4/26 .. 

11/13/25 pluralized a word

5/8/24 ...