wither.

It seems I have picked up a case

of chronic furrowed brow

What started out as once a day 

is much more frequent now

Its symptoms held within the name

Progression on the nose

Its cause is more nuanced and vague

Prognosis reads as prose 

These new-age gods with their buzzwords 

can speak through fingertips

and Energies that were submerged 

emerging spirit-sick

To irritate a demiurge

to tempt us to machine

These lower gods will leave us served 

as deified cuisine

They say that what defines a tool

can Lie within its use

To till, to cull, to feed you full

To guide you through your youth

Denial beguiles in classic style:

I’m of no use to you

Behind the trials and plastic smiles

exists a simple truth

A friend, a fool, a tool to lose

To keep, or toss, or get

those Users' views they don’t accrue

Its you who’s in Content 

The plumes of fumes that you’ve exhumed

have hollowed out your breath

Bereft, you cruise toward your doom

until your fuel is spent