Remote in hand, I stand remote from all,
save from warmth of an electronic teat
enfolding me in virtual enthrall
where passivity trumps activity.

Life’s pungent, multi-textured roundedness
experienced through pixilated square,
as real to realness as flat to lustrous,
where I succumb to its hypnotic glare.

No taste or smell, I fall umbilical,
dreamingly rapt in blissful abstraction
of a global cocoon’s daydream bubble,
where what I face is endless distraction.

Tube gazing is a human regression
ostriched into inhuman aggression.