Sometimes I find it hard to justify my technology-dependant lifestyle with my nature-based faith. This is sort of a poetic doodle on the subject.
Tinny toned alarm clock breaks the dawn,
In a sacred circle of table salt
By the trembling light of the television
And mystic chorus of mp3s
She works her modern magic;
Cigarette smoke her incense,
Gas lighters her flame.
Plastic pentagrams in lipstick pink
On wood-pulp processed paper.
Mumbling magic from the laptop screen,
She is the cyber sorceress
New technology for the old gods:
Silicone spell-caster of video voodoo,
Hexadecimal hexes,
Because the wire witch knows
That in artifice ancient wisdom lies.
She is artificial:
Celebrating the natural
With her manufactured body.
With gaudy deformities,
She raises her hands to the ceiling
And praises the sky.
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