Siri. Type this:

More memories. Less Facebook moments.

Let’s go back to concerts filled with lighters — warm seas of flame,

instead of stadiums filled with phones and waves of blue light that keeps us from sleeping at night.

Our phones, it looks like we’re all telling one big ghost story around the campfire — our faces lit up from underneath in the dark.

It’s like a part of our bodies, a mollusk’s shell,

That we won’t outgrow until it’s torn from us and we’re eaten, still fresh.

It’s like we call it Facetime because that’s what we need, but don’t have.

Since when is being viral a good thing?

Viral means an infectious disease.

Viral Viral Viral.

I feel like I need a ****** just to surf the web.

I honestly can’t have a conversation with a person

without toying at my phone anymore.

We post our beautiful stories on snapchat,

the colorful blurred days of our lives,

and let it slip away into the ether.

Your stories are still interesting even after 24 hours.

Seeing that red notification, knowing I’m special, I’m wanted, I’m special.

when it turns out to be another Farmville invite.

Talk about crutches. Nitze called religion a crutch but at least religion helps people walk. Phones make people run into things.

I wonder if the New Messiah will have a social media account.

We are so close to just hooking up our phones to traveling robot vehicles and navigating our world from our home.

The future’s hangouts will be phones arranged in a circle

on a table,

all on Facetime,

as we take shots,

in our rooms alone.

Jerry smiles because he isn’t wearing pants

but no one can tell.

Our phones only show what’s on top.

Please share this poem, by the way.


For videos of my reading my poems, visit https://mateilatte.wordpress.com/content/poetry/