welcome to the digital age

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screens pictures of footballers and women, images of friday evenings at the bar, drinks clubs beaches dresses and suits, slogans and tags brands logos and tatts, plastered on the subway halls, on the city gates and village walls: a glass curtain warping time and memory and touch to its molten white rage, like bacteria crawling through your flesh and blood in the lonely, dreaming hour, swarming on the precious stones and towers wild wolves through a lost city. your mind is no more. your body is no more. your words are no more and your touch is no more. welcome to the digital age

scratching burning and turning with boredom, the newsman is screaming loud and clear to the pipe in your ear which echoes with the drop drop drop of water, slow and not so steady as the basilisk fang hangs but never yet bites, the tigers claw paused yet never strikes, lying there flicking through the endless pages of a book you’ll only start but never finish, page after page after page after page, an eagle slammed shut inside a small dark cage while moments and movements freedom are nothing but ruins on the shore of your memory

standing with the shop badge pinned to your chest, the pale yellow falls before you in a fog of products and adverts and lies. you walk to the exit and find only traps, hints of false freedom at the far end of a tunnel. the hammers are rasping and banging fierce on the walls, you return to your bible and find the pages have been torn and smoked to bits, as though the life you lived was never yours to miss

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