For Shelley

I met a traveller from a digital land

Who said: “Two vast and wireless screens and phones,

Stand in some memories. Near them, on discarded toilet rolls,

Spread out, a printed message lies, with fonts

So micro soft, and typefaces for command prompts,

Tell that its printer well that software read  

Which yet survive, stamped on these paper sheets,

The ink that stained them and lines that smudged

And on the strips of rolls, it can be read:

‘My name is Intermandias,

Look on my works, ye ancients, and despair!’

Nothing online remains. Round the decay

Of this obsolete tech, boundless and rich  

The lone and loving souls stretch far away.”