The smart phone is killing the mind,
the wet sponge, an abstract small nut
within the white shell.  It’s
demise is a thing locked within
the spirit of creative engineering.

I am holding regardless.
Bundled within my tight
blanket it smothers,

It’s inviting;  at red lights,
truck stops, bookstores, and strip clubs.

An allure of shiny machinery;
the magical device,
connecting souls
to the honey hole
of all our desires.

A true confession requires
deep admission, and the cloak
of denial is the largest entrance,
and technology has the largest door.

Built not of clay but polycarbonate
is its face
our friend is a liquid display
of glass like Alice we look into
the mirror for lying truths.

My hi-tech golem I love you
my aching fingers do
more than the lover
across the table for two,

But the golem of hi-tech
cannot thinkSpeak, like Sanhedrin
described when Rav Zeira asked
a question, there was no reply…

NOT YET…

:: 11-13-2014 ::