Future Primitive

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They promised us jet packs

instead all we got are these stupid phones.

Burn day light batteries by the soft glow

of our smug faces,

but if you need a burrito

I’m the unshowered oracle you have at home.

 

*Blip*

into a tv dream of fall cardigans, mock turtle,

gray stitch of evening wear perfect for a night on the town

as a nap on the couch. $200.00

if the commercial reminds you of a classier grandpa

 

instead of the drunk who became ancestor

refusing doctors a hack at his other foot.

 

And by god

where are the robots,

iron Neanderthals to do the laundry, crush dishes accidentally

with manacles for palms?

I fancied a future where families dressed

to the neon best

wrapped group hugs ‘round contraptions bawling sprockets:

adolescent circuitry at odds with robot law.

 

Instead, clothes still come in one fashion

per item, no shape shifting nanofibers tailored by our minds,

oh, but the success they’ve had

inducing automatons to cry.

 

Witness this by the odorless interface, conduit of cell phone towers

to touchscreens, celebrity retweets

ignite rafters of this open air mine.

 

Yowl and snivel,

sure, me too.

Grinds my gears by the eye sockets

like waking dreams totally recalled. Levi’s,

maybe Apple ads, unsolicited tender access touch my special place:

Memories of first kiss jpeg

renders a weep over adverts

pimping straight leg pairs of jeans.

…For Pop

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