Information Age

Truth is insistent,
sit up and listen.

I am cradled in the crook
of a corporate father,
a drunken Darwin,
whose twisted survivalist lip
mouths "work force reduction
for you,
but a head pat for you,
who I'll keep a bit longer,"
Meantime, I allocate assets as
tangible as the morning vapor
upon his castle lawn.

Interoffice e-mail flash,
Inescapable:

... on Monday, doctors began to monitor Steve‘s father's
brain activity to determine chances for recovery, and what
his life quality might be. This has been completed, and they
found no activity...

This gargoyle
perches on my shoulder,
scaly toes wrap around bone.
Daily, at any time,
the taloned tap and whispered rasp:
Think of this.
Now relax.
This is where you are.