Ghosts In Machines (Or 'How To Stay Poor And Influence No One')

So,
Here we all are,
Ghosts in everyone else's machines...
Facebook, Twitter, g+, Ello, Snapchat, Instagram..etc etc etc...
Ad infinitum...
Ad nauseam.
The great age of meeting,
Playing the ' getting to know you' intro,
The sexual main drag,
The mutually complicate,
Eventual drifting apart
All without ever hearing anyone's voices
Or seeing their mannerisms when they are happy, sad, suicidal, or eating spaghetti.
It's all profile pix and the 'best 1 out of 30' selected photos.

Friendships begin and end without anyone having to look anyone in the eye and say...
' it's not you, it's me, and it's over.'
They'll just unfriend or block your ass.
'nuff said.

To answer the post- tech apocalyptic poet Yes, Mr. Numan, friends are indeed, finally, electric.

And here I am.
A ghost in your machine,
bemoaning the loss of something intangible,
While throwing viscera against a world wide wall.
Hoping something will stick
So I'll know that it's done.

- - - -30- - - - -
Y

Thursday, October 16, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: misanthropy
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