Benjamin Jenkins, poem, poems, poetry, writing

Cellular phone people walking

Exhaling cigarette plumes and wireless waves

Up into the clear stratosphere.

Rushing from point A to B.

It’s traffic.

Mid-summer rain

Upon hot concrete

It’s Steam.


Women pondering pretty

Visages with powder

Watching one star glistening.

Whispering midnight.

It’s plastic.

Let’s listen to the trees

Paper, fire, and rolled cardboard

It’s Mary’s jeans.


Tackling the Sunset

To repay

The Moon’s debt.

Seasons are taxing.

It’s intrinsic.

Chasing a White Rabbit.

Dirty, frustrated, unable to catch it.

It’s a dream.


2 thoughts on “Technociety

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