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Still Singing Yeats

Show me a rough beast in the world today
one who knows his own.
Show me one not poisoned and lost
Within that electric fizzling glare.

Who knows their sons anymore?
Who knows their fathers?
Who knows how to untie that DSL/Cable connection noose?
You know,
the one that squeezes like Kah
as you stare into its tube projected eyes?

“Jane,” somebody yells. “Get me off this crazy thing”
as you ride your shrink-wrapped
self made, ready cooked fate
down drainpipe streets 
on wagon wheels of yesterday.

We are that rough beast slouching,
dragging ourselves through our own filth
toward that Bethlehem-in-a-box.