My devices have their own rhythm
controlling me one on one
each taking turn to speed me up and shut me down
counting my haphazard stutter through the day
for their own electro-entertainment
Morning is worst
My alarm clock kicks ten beats too soon
heaving me into light
stumbling I run into the
deviously calibrated DVD player that -
conspiring with the microwave -
rips twenty minutes from my day
like a well-practised street thief
so I bolt - thinking
I have irresponsibly lost time
somewhere between the
bedroom and the toaster
In my haze I hear laughter I cannot place
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