17th December 2013

Sonnet 45

Olden peeps would just chuck them on the fire,

 Torn photos of those they couldn't abide;

Monochrome shots of their long dead desire;

 Big white wedding on silver nitrate slide.

Now, I let you press "delete" - and I'm gone -

When I'm not  wallpaper I'm dead to thee,

Have smartphone signal - will avoid "alone",

Update on your flight from melancholie:

Here's how little it takes to be recurred:

Ten seconds is all I can stand of thee;

That's how long my full attention's assured

(Except for selfies when it's me on me).

   Instagrams in the dark to make me glad,

   Send me some ash through our ether of sad.