Disconnected

At every turn I hear the buzzing-
inundated by the light,
oozing out from all the screens
that feast upon our sight.

I too once toted them around
unknowingly addicted
upon the high of many sounds
no mind could have predicted.

They tell us how to live and breathe
and show us where to go,
charting, tracking but ultimately lacking
things we need to know.

I sit here now
a programmed slave, offering you this piece-
written out without a pen,
I no offer no release.

At every turn I hear the buzzing
permeate the air
and even though I quit that shit
they still buzz everywhere.