Granted:
I could’ve plucked out
shorter expectations
for myself.

Could’ve
shrunk before I grew,
leaving the last stretch to
someone else.

Even
walked before I ran –
just to run away from
number one.

What straw do you draw?

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The New Panopticon

Where has my life gone?

Does it stare back at me,Panopticon.jpg
Ensnared in the cold white glare
Of pixels that define me?
Cells displaced by pixels
In in-technocratic-sanity.

Is it in front of me?
Hung, drawn, and quartered,
App-by-app and bite-by-bite,
So that there’s more than one of me?
And we’re neatly kept locked up
In cells of digital mastery.

What need is there
For memories
When the Cloud above renders every moment
Non-transitory?
And ‘friends’, users, bots seem to remember
More ‘About Me’ than about the real me.