Imagine the art of doodling dies out
with the corded phone and the message pad
on which we explore the storm of a signature
or idly draw our own prisons.
Fully digital, there’ll be no escape,
from double history or the monthly team meeting,
aboard sailboats bound for those desert islands
we discover in the margins of a page.
How will we visit our corners without the pyramids
and chessboards of these unfocused sketches?
Lost in the spaghetti junction of ourselves,
afloat in our think bubbles.
A really nice observation on the way technology is shaping our habits. I suppose the phone with a twisty cord belongs with C90 cassettes and standing up, walking across the room and touching the television to change the channel.