The Button

I am an artist
selling shit
is not my strength
consequently
neither is buying
into the loudmouth lies
the world as viewed
via the media's skewed
prison of a prism
casting black and white

lines like telephone wires
still stand against
the rural skyline
meanwhile
fewer and fewer
choose to utilize
the tools which have
stood the test of time
spinning
in lunch hour classes
for the latest
joyless
faceless heartless
version of new

who am I to say
what should be what
or to comment
on what is to some
but not to me
who am I to dream
of a world
where food is truly
nourishing
where a toaster is not
irrepairable
where an Ipod is not
necessity
where friendship extends
beyond text
and instant messaging

this can only take us
so far this can only lead
to its own undoing
which is all anything leads to
but somehow this seems
more pressing
than the natural order
doing its thing
but then who am I to
declare this moment
a footnote
rather the next chapter
or at least a solid page

i'd be lying if I said
the lingering thought
doesn't seat me on edge
that invisible button
not far from one man's hand
its dusty yet evaporative
possibility dwarfed
by the paramount threat
of a hundred million
billion trillion
buttons linking
as many dimly lit
minds to l e d
screens

highlighting
and outlining
the inevitable
deterioration
of meticulously
cosmetically
altered surgically
distorted

faces fighting
rejecting
age and grace
technology
in the name of
vanity's preservation
am i alone
in feeling
torn by reservation

© 2011 N. Chaplin
All Rights Reserved