The Danforth Anchor

When the source
you need to live
springs now too much,
then too thin,
but you must drink thereof, nonetheless,

of what may yet be dubbed
life-giving water,
though it poisons you too,
although in the very short term,
it lets you live,
in a way,
and, in that, you are blessed.

The love contaminated
with narcissistic, plastic overlays
as though what was natural
rather than a lily gilded
more closely resembles
a lily laminated–
it can starve, it can suffocate,
worse than if you were forced to eat,
despite clearly and vocally not liking it,
you were green eggs and ham-inated.

The camaraderie sought
in a glowing light screen device
with a lap-sitting keyboard
and a hinging flip top
can easily be controlled and be got,

and when it feels like too much,
(though that point is sometimes overshot
by more than a touch)
it can with the push of one button, turn off.

What needs one, then,
of a clear, clean, pure running well,
or a heart pumping out love,
or a real, live, present friend
here in the now,
not just in voice
or in face
but in body,
sharing the same light
and same air?

I mean,
who needs
the friend presence
in full-mind-body spirit
so with just ear alone as tech,
when they speak,
you can hear it?. . . .

Yes,
who needs all that,
when the ersatz or subpar
versions of well, heart and friend
can be so much easier and cheaper be bought,
with far less time and effort,
plugged into connection
with those people you habitually meet
in what has come to be known as “virtual” space–
the ones who live, some near and some far,
who grow to loom large
in your mind, eyes and life,
though, spanning the land and the globe,
they live and come from
all over the place?

But , yea,
one as yet unspoken point
lies hanging in the air–

though you may learn from, and love them,
and even be loved by them,
while yet alone in your room,
a fortress from where
divisions of distance
feel much safer to breach–

even though, if you follow solely that path,
you’re never really gonna get
exactly all the way there.