Oftentimes it mews
on and on
begging to not off
(making the background
unaware
of its status)
fighting some miniscule twig
(the thing you wish you did
yesterday)
messing with
the foreground focus
of what you want
to do right now.

“Turn me on,
to turn it off,”
it chants
in digital pixels
prancing the space between your face
and the screen
making real time seem
irrelevant
(the once shaking waves on which it transmitted
sine, cosine, cosine, sine,
erased to pieces
without patterns
precise representation
invading with swiftness).

Quick, let it take you,
take you away,
escape the bombardment,
of a very long day.