"Sonnet 18" - The Digital Divide (feedback?)

[SleepyWitch]

ETA: There's a new and (hopefully) improved version further down.


"Sonnet 18" – The Digital Divide

Like a tardigrade in a tsunami
I’m lost on google.
You are lost,
tailor-made rebel of the pre-Facebook age.
When the bourgeoise life gave us lemons,
we tamed our raging hearts in battle.
The gentle, polished scholars in their vineyard
got it wrong:
The universe expanded in 2003 from the two of us
to a swirlpool of bit-rate data not worth the electrons they ride on.
Yo, world, you’re missing the most romantic tragedy
that you’ve never heard of #Lysanderknows.
I yearn to lay waste to all the synonymous places,
incinerate the LinkedIn faces of scientists and actors
who take your name in vain.
If we were meant to stayfriends-dot-dee-ee, we’d know it,
but that didn’t stop us then.
Your golden freckles, the outline of your jaw
don’t merit bandwidth between reporters’ careers.
Your surly lips not even a footnote
in the machinery of the Bavarian state.
Your voice, your strength, your smell
forgotten by the neighbours.
But the things they don’t know
still ricochet and fester sweetly in my soul.

[YesNo]

I liked the last two lines which made sense out of the previous lines in the poem. I interpret the message as saying our subjectivity cannot be replaced by a digital download of electrons, and I agree with that. As feedback one could ask if the lines prior to the last two can be strengthened.

Here are lines I did not understand:

When the bourgeoise life gave us lemons,
we tamed our raging hearts in battle.

Could they be strengthened?

Although I liked the idea, would a tardigrade care if there were a tsunami or not?

I liked the idea of the universe expanding in 2003 and the tailor-made rebel part.

I didn't understand these lines:

I yearn to lay waste to all the synonymous places,
incinerate the LinkedIn faces of scientists and actors
who take your name in vain.

Could this be clarified?

I don't know what the "reporters’ careers" refer to.

[SleepyWitch]

I liked the last two lines which made sense out of the previous lines in the poem. I interpret the message as saying our subjectivity cannot be replaced by a digital download of electrons, and I agree with that. As feedback one could ask if the lines prior to the last two can be strengthened.

Here are lines I did not understand:

When the bourgeoise life gave us lemons,
we tamed our raging hearts in battle.

Could they be strengthened?

Although I liked the idea, would a tardigrade care if there were a tsunami or not?

I liked the idea of the universe expanding in 2003 and the tailor-made rebel part.

I didn't understand these lines:

I yearn to lay waste to all the synonymous places,
incinerate the LinkedIn faces of scientists and actors
who take your name in vain.

Could this be clarified?

I don't know what the "reporters’ careers" refer to.

Thanks! I agree about some of those lines and have rewritten them. I can't post them right now, as I'm on my phone. Will post them in a bit from home.

[SleepyWitch]

YesNo, I've made some changes.




Chasing traces of your essence,
I’m lost on google.
You are lost,
tailor-made rebel of the pre-Facebook age.
When the bourgeois life gave us bourgeois lemons,
we tamed our raging hearts in love - or was it war?
The gentle, polished scholars in their vineyard
got it wrong:
The universe expanded in 2003 from the two of us
to a swirlpool of bit-rate data not worth the electrons they ride on.
Yo, world, you’re missing the most romantic tragedy
that you’ve never heard of #Lysanderknows.
I yearn to lay waste to all the synonymous places,
incinerate the LinkedIn faces of scientists and actors
who share your name in vain.
If we were meant to stayfriends-dot-dee-ee, we’d know it,
but that didn’t stop us then.
Your golden freckles, the outline of your jaw
don’t merit bandwidth between reporters’ careers.
Your surly lips not even a footnote
in the machinery of the Bavarian state.
Your voice, your strength, your smell
forgotten by the neighbours.
But even now, another mile down the barren slope of time,
the things they don’t know
still ricochet and fester sweetly in my soul.