It’s banal, uninspired.
To point toward the unwired.
Despite a lack of a new angle
We still love to hate the black rectangle.
Bezels and cases try to disguise
But can’t hide what we love to despise
A pocket-placed brain secondary
Shifting our status always to “wary.”
Promised connection, proved to be phony
Instead casting the world toward feeling lonely
Distracted, depressed, minds thrown into tangle
Saving up for more of these black rectangles.
Phones, amirite? It’s pretty hard to jump into poetry without having poeted for a while!