Poem: Retrogression

I see the language of humans

disintegrating

into binary

zeroes and ones—

the lie of creation.

Never a stickler for grammar

I weep at misplaced

apostrophes.

People are outsourcing

the magic of communication,

the necessity of ideas.

I am writing poetry

for proof of its own existence,

of mine—

to mark this spot

say, “I was here”

a somber record

of our fall.