Look around
Listen
Ghosts of cafe table chatter
Deals made
Broken
Research shared
Dollars generated
Status updates
What if you have no status?
Silent whir of computers
Pads, phones
All devices syncing
Signing in
Google brain still can't locate me
Only the vessel I use
Anthropology
I still collect words
In a notebook
The slow old fashion way
Compositions brew
Into drawings and back again
Hoping something
Grows out of my pot
Or the twitching earth
Beneath my feet
I'm all for the generating of beats
The snap of photos
Little boxes of magic
The dust of saints
Whatever pops into my head
Out the mouth
Whether a bongo beat
Or byte size blip
Poetry sprouts
Through the sidewalk
Cracks the concrete garden
Of cemented souls.