I

we are the square-eyed children
who swim in radio waves
from our rooms of solitude,
painted in blue moods
and hues of synchronized views
with our online friends,
who refresh our highlight reels
to hollow barrels of silent
stone faced laughter
and muted,
seated ovation.

eyes glued to the all-seeing screen
blind in a bubble of bloated ego,

flaccid placid photographers
who play the spectator
part-time role
behind narrow focused lenses 
which see more than our eyes
who specialize in self-portraits,
chopping cropping
the big picture,
only to fit our bigger heads
and the dead stares of our square-eyes.

              II

there is more life
in a morgue
than in these crowds
of Medusa's tongue-tied
eye-contact shy
gargoyle features,

stonewall statue seas
and paralyzed shoe-gazers
who fade in and out of frame
on clouds of clout
and self-doubt.

              III

we are the proud people
who sold the paradise of Eden
for currents of electric disconnection,
the prodigal people
who vacated thrones
for apples made in caves,
manned by child slaves.

protesters with placard
profile pictures
who have never ticked boxes
at the vacant polling stations. 

Hercules armed
with one hundred and forty
keyboard swords,
struck down by David's
slingshot of actual action.

              IV

specialists in matrimonial failure
chasing bluebird ticks
in sickness and unhealthy
fixes of quick prick remedies.

deadbeat parents
who build broken homes
and damage children playthings
for insta gratification
by the gram.

who spend more
on therapy bills and numbing pills,
and spend less time 
reading bedtime books.

              V

we are the walking dead
who pretend to care
with our online friends
but wouldn't dare
stare the serpent
in the eye.

who defend with triggers
of offended offence gestures,

leaving a trail of despair
while we run scared,
frail, with our tails
between our shaking legs.

we are the walking dead
square-eyed children.

born into the slow cancellation of the future.