if we were popcorns. . .

A fairer day

In Faraday

–so faraway

from web. . .

the weave

that traps

–in bits & apps–

in text &

tweets &

threads

But microwave

in kitchen–

staves

–off EM waves

from soul. . .

inside it’s me

I ask—

not Jeeves

–not Google

or

Echo

on plate

within,

I sit & spin

a winsome weave

unseen. . .

no post nor pin

required—

since

this hotspot

has no screen

and

now new

stream’s

all mine—

it seems

my dreams

are worn–

not torn. . .

in 2 by face

book posts—

in place

just me

(and some popcorn)