We are another generation
Living obscure dreams
That reak of Purgatory.
Afraid of nesting
Running on a track.
Toward what.
We will look at a screen
As some used to look to the sky:
To portend the future.
Reading through too many messages.
Every attempt at connection is a tunnel.
Dark passage. Sent. Received.
Underground is best
This way, we can prepare for
Any Holocaust, any desolation
To radioactive livers. The cancer is
Our destruction that follows
Us down, is in our buried hands,
In the swipe left
In trying to hold attention
With the teeth of a byte,
Some sound.
