the focus of the reader was the first casualty
unfortunately followed closely by the attention
span of the writer.

leaving our poetry every day shorter and shorter
until we choose to leave the poem behind
in a tweet rather than on digital paper.

a medium we’re certain has a shorter life, to better suit our shorter attention

i let it rain on niko bellic for ten minutes
i felt like Vonnegut
watching him stand in one spot
shaking off the rain

You are as a fish
stuck in the same little bowl
and though it is
a nice bowl,
rife
with all the trinkets
that a fish could ever need,
it is just a bowl
and there is such trouble
leaping out.

Instead, there are lungs
to be had, and claws
to be grown from fins,
for to climb atop a small stone castle
and leap so very gracefully
from the bowl-rim to counter-top to
kitchen sink, which is
not much better,
but
at least you can
flush on down to stream that way.