The New

Ah, The New, there is the rub of it - dislodged, 
disambiguated by slow learning in its face, but 
were we quick to grasp we’d not be ourselves; 

lost to an anonymity cast in street credence or 
misplaced where you last stood for something 
of solidity and permanence to wake up into, or 

themes subtle-orchestrated - played & parsed 
by plasma invigorated with presence less any 
 sustained substance in air-balance between 

who you think you are and who you wish to be 
seen not in any sense as a reality you lived an 
eternity in, just bits you’d trade gladly on-line 

for social approval and scent of admiration, an 
okay evidenced recognition you’re netted fine; 
damn it, for starters please, just a 1+ will do 

now followers, friends, circles, their ceremony 
where redundancies are vetted - scrupulously 
cleaned or deleted - and there it is, The New!  

© 15 November 2013, I. D. Carswell