planned obsolescence

i take a picture with my dead people phone
& watch as it turns skeletal. once, i had a charger
that i could plug into my mouth to
keep me going all night. somewhere my 
old eyes are being dissected for usable glories.
i buy a phone. the phone starts bleeding.
i wrap it up with all kinds of bandages & gauze.
wipe my hands on my pants. learn to only
wear black so that the stains aren't as apparent.
someone says, "that used to happen to my phone
but then i got a new one & all it does
is laugh." i stare at their phone. i know that soon
it'll be just the same as mine. a sticky wound.
finally, the phone refuses to eat. 
i would hold my fork up & beg. i say,
"just one more day of honey." i can't even play
any games, just make calls. i call the clouds.
i call my dad. no stranger to obsolescence.
he talks with a corkscrew voice. i think of 
my next phone. my next computer. each
thinner than the last. soon they will tell you,
"here is your flesh." i do not want a new phone.
i don't want a new skin. i don't even want
a little game i just want to chew on something
salty & holy. i just want to hold my phone
& find everything i am missing. a portal. 
instead the phone finally stops time. 
makes statue garden of the world. i walk around,
cradling my stunning carcass. i see with me
other people & their bloody hands & 
their dead phones. one comes to me & says,
"did you know there are screams in there?
do you hear them?" i plug my ears. i don't
want to risk that kind of truth. instead, i get
a fresh tiny horror. it opens its eyes. bleats 
like a calf. i feel terror & relief.