By James Wadman


I feel the way we’re flashing, like splashes
from stones skipping across glazed water
barely penetrating the surface.
I fear the way we wasted serotonin
On silicon screens and not each other,
Knowing it is never enough to scream.
And wherever we sink in this river
Our edges will smooth in circuitry,
We’ll persist like precious gems
But it’s not enough for me.

 

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