Morass Mess

 Don't go out there tonight.

Don't go wandering into the cesspit that is

The multi-fonted opinions of others 

You cannot hear your own thoughts let alone voice them

Without being over typed and whited out

Control.

Alt.

Delete.

How easy to become pixilated with distress 

At the mess

Of the world 

Through this Lens.

We need to stop.

Step away.

It is so convenient,

Nestled there in our hands 

Offering an

Avenue to

The outside -

But it tricks 

It slithers our minds into 

Places that grasp the eye

And hypnotise.

The magic a sleight of content 

Designed to drown distrust no matter

What flavour discontent we drink.

It holds the door firmly shut

Every service 

Every transaction 

Every interaction in life

A tendril holding us in its embrace.

I remember records playing 

Books read 

Recipes torn from magazines 

Dinner guests 

Playgrounds and pizza parties and

People mingling with people 

I also remember watching others 

Interacting 

On the outside holding platters 

Or giving readings

Or being listener

Ears alert 

Eyes focused yet

Behind 

yet behind 

portrait painting poetry the scene from afar.

Perhaps it is not the phone mine own enemy

but a new frame for an old, old pose.

Stay within tonight.

Stay here and stay safe from the them and their hum 

Humour me

Put it down.

And escape.