A beautiful mind like no other I've known,
Intelligence, passion and vulnerability are shown,
Deep fears and desires haunt her through the night,
Her words speak to me, filling my darkness with light.

I wish I could express to her the way I feel,
Though I doubt she would even believe it's real,
Regrettably my crush barely knows of my existence,
All I can do is admire her from a distance.

We are all going to live forever
As fragments floating in the ether
As tweets and emails
Photos and blogs
Our digital footprint
Will leave an imprint
On all of our graves
On the Internet
Nothing is private
Everything is public
Nothing is fleeting
Everything is forever

Oh my lord, these messages
regarding novel technology
But how original is it really?

Aura, heavenly choir
echoes, booming through your living room
and creeping into your bedroom laptop
The religion is now available in a watch
The weight of this phone and the distractions she invites
I feel like a past man, a robber baron
displaced in his longest dream, and it’s terrifying
that there are past lives
I’m not sure how I’ll deal with the flashing images
which describe everything I ever done

A Note to myself and You:
NEVER ANSWER A TROLL.

“Don’t feed the Trolls” they say,
So don’t reply to them.
(Delete or block them if you can).

Let their bile or guile stand alone,
So that others can see
What bad people they are.

Ignore them completely.
Leave them to drown in the Silence.

Paul Butters

as the silken webs stick to you
an ignorant bliss is written in your eyes
you are stricken by a venom inflicted
you're caught in a web of lies

there's a difference between visible and hidden
a difference between spiders and flies
you're a victim of innocence once bitten
you're caught in a web of lies

Look at my life,
In perfect curation.
Crawl through my photos,
For an endless duration;
My travels, my boyfriend,
My little black dress,
With each "like" you give me,
You'll like yourself less.
I'm pretty, I'm smart,
And outdoorsy to boot.
I proved I like hiking,
With a mountain top shoot.
I made it look easy,
My cheeks weren't flushed,
My re-application at the
Top wasn't rushed.
It's not about hiking,
But getting that shot,
To prove to the world,
That I'm trendy and hot.
My phone and it's filter,
Are all that I need,
Plus endless selfies,
And for you to believe.
One of one hundred,
Good angle and light.
Touched up and ready,
To upload tonight.
Of course it was worth it,
That trip to the top.
If I don't stay active,
My numbers will drop.
Please like me, share me,
keep me in rotation.
Please look at my life,
in perfect curation.

I am glad I lived this long
So I could be on the internet.
I always wanted a ****** life
And though I haven’t got there yet
I am close, I can see it now
Throngs and hordes of ***** people;
Hundreds want to ****** me.
Several sites want to enlarge me,
I blush, nobody wants to reduce me.

I get fifty or so messages a day
Telling me how hot they are.
They treat me like I am a king
Or a kind of ****** superstar.
Calling me like sirens on rocks
They do, at least, until I get
To the part where I must pay
To get laid on the internet.

I have asked enough questions
Some of them embarrassing
To get the idea and understand
Why it’s me they are harassing.
By even clicking on their site
I’ve proved that I am a fool.
They say to themselves, I’m sure
“Will you look at this gullible tool?

Oh, and the promises they make!
They will rock my world with a word.
They will tell me the hottest things
That a schmuck like me ever heard.
But to clear the air, when they ask
For card numbers I don’t make a peep.
I am as ***** as a drunken rabbit
But first and foremost, I am cheap.

So many relationships like bad business partnerships:
green bottles falling from walls; messages stuck in bottles
rotating in great gyres; swallows never at home North or South.
(Anti-Confessional? — It’s a fashionable trend just now
and yet what is it not to confess, when we claim authorship?)

Suburbia’s flat evenness suffocates (but I’ve repeated this
so many times and I’m still here!).
We need to find the cracks in which to grow, in which to place,
our errant thoughts like rude whispers in a darkened room,
and nobody about to hear you anyway!

We express ourselves well in silence but me, I gyrate,
not quite on one side or the other, a kind of even fullness,
or, that’s what I like to think, let’s get this straight:
I’m an uncouth wind against plains that offer no obstacles.
Better to wear me that way — it saves the snap under pressure.