by Caroline Crew
When every start-up is a disrupter,
what is left of the smooth surface of our daily boredom?
Today, Pantone announces next year’s colour as classic blue,
a shade to soothe our ragged stimuli.
Something to hold onto in the slipping sands of attention.
In making spontaneity stick to the screen time, we have sacrificed.
This is the blandest statement.
There is no mystical excess, only the pewter swing
of Lady Justice’s scales balancing wholesome meals
and thirst traps. Repeat, not repent.
Any divinity hungers to cannibalize its own divine order.
Boon to the prayer of algorithm.
Any system is the biting down of a yawn, is the abandonment
to good sense, the middle road of moderate
privacy settings and infinite forgetting.
This poem first appeared in 32poems magazine.