My morning eyes are cold and hard black ice;
When I observe what's being fed to me,
As Facebook whispers words naughty and nice.
A news feed deluge breaches levees wide
Enough to weather gale force info-storms,
Causing my mind to want to run and hide,
From storm-surge data far beyond the norms.
Daily grow the waves of words I ponder --
My mind awash in flotsam from the net.
I float among the jetsam and wonder,
How I can sort such surf but not get wet,
And figure out, without causing a splash,
How I can tell the treasure from the trash...
Mick McKellar
January 2018
Because: One man's trash -- might get shared and go viral...
Mick
1 comment:
Shared viruses-an age-old problem, always cursed, sometimes fatal. The analog, a harsh reality, the digital, like the old, worthy of curse.
Post a Comment