“What will we do?” he asked the touch
screen, capable of any
thing, but turning
Off. An entire civilization.
Only a circumstance, cinders.
Like a beehive dying
Antennae and pheromones dance
Instructions to air and wax
Meaning collapse; signal loss: total.
Or a web of snapping
Threads, delicate strategies.
Spinning and skilled hooks
Once tethered each branch to action,
Gathering vibration and struggle
In a center, a silk heart.
Now subject to circumstitch replacement
Mere object, nano optics, operant conditioning
A swivel chair and a console.
“Who is there to do
Anything now?” a small god
In his head offered. “You don’t even know
it is happening.”
Written By: Robert Hill
About the Author: Robert Hill lives in San Francisco. He is interested in philosophy and the relationship humans have with technology. He is a song writer and is attending the addiction and recovery program at CCSF.