Cell phone.

Shovel full of lifeless silence.
Imobile and seasonless
In which wé freeze
As if wé ve forgotten how to speak
Not from lack of words
But from like a of autistic whiteness
Blotting out every footprint of our words.
All phrases burried shovel by shovel
As if wé have no elements to turn to.
As if the Trees, the stars ; the day, the night; the waters, the mountains; the birds, the breeze; were all gone.
Removed from the sky now wé admire the sunrises and sunsets in our cell phones.
The state fed serveurs feeds us into obédience.
The he,the she; the you, the me; the ours, the theirs; unplugged.

The apertures of our brains dilates to pixels we gulp voraciously
Wé make love to the machines wé have created
Fidelity promised to our cell phones than to out life partners
Till death masturbates us.