A digital tide is rising from wire headed monks
to prey on tradition and make mockery of Love.
Grand earache of technology attacking from exits and entrances
decieving the pinheads with bare societies,
a cyber neon clergy of pop ups and empty links.
The vulgarising innocence,
wicker basket corpses falling into carpet threads
of pointed heels that know no sin...
©Steven Francis poems 2013
More poetry from Welsh poet/writer Steven Francis. Described by one reviewer as "the poet with a magic microscope into human emotion", Steven is a fascinating walk into a dawn where the sun reveals everything...
