Silos

We sit and consume,
crated into cubicles;
isolated despite our need for
cooperation.
Faces covered by
cloth, bandanna, and plastic to
shield us from
each other, from
ourselves.
Communal meals now
sundered and eaten alone.
To what do we belong if
we can be together no longer?

by Erik Shinker

Distractions

Ringing inconsistency,
switch.
Lost loves lamented,
switch.
Discontent and disillusion,
switch.
Manic soaring,
switch.
A plateau parallel to yesterday,
switch.
Static white-noise,
switch.
A perfected pretense in ideal,
switch.
Chronic pain and horror at one’s end,
switch.
Playlist on shuffle,
switch.
Update spreadsheets and status trackers,
switch.
A sultry redhead with freckles.
Switch.
Begin next task,
switch.
Repetition in flux.
Switch.

by Erik Shinker