26th March 2014

Sonnet 112

Can hyperinterconnectedness fill

This dyspraxia that's in my brow?

Remote hypnotherapyse when I'm ill

Keep my slate clean for what law'll allow?

The self as individual - thrive or strive

Speaking in predictive text's worldwide tongue:

Ventilator'd Wi-Fi keeps us alive

And no bugs to fight - Google's never wrong.

Where do we come from?  I don't think I care,

What are we doing? Light years  don't make sense,

Where are we going?  Where the dark holes are

Sweetheart we're parallel universe bred:

Make virtual love, let's pretend we're not dead.