We're sorry for that brief interruption
Someone hacked our station for a minute
We're now using some simple deduction
To try to find out the perfect culprit.

You hear static?

Hello news viewers, audio is clear?
Good, it is, time to let the show start
We've seen their boring little white lies here
Right in between commercials for Walmart

Stay tuned for more!

We see eachother
Through our screens
And we see nothing at all.
All of us,
Our pixels staged
Like empty vendor stalls.

Substituting eye contact with
Fingertips on
Static.
Everything emotional
Is frozen,
Mathematic.

I am longing inside out
For
Savage,
Revealing
Touch

Warmed not by
Electricity,
But by a  
Carnal
Flush.

Humans are robots,
Robots that act like humans,
Technologically.

Back in touch with virtual reality,
fingers caress the keyboard
and the screen
(the gentle, intimate touch of lovers),
plugged in the earphones and became
part of the circuit,
electrons zipped into one ear
and were discharged from the other.

Put aside the world for an hour
or two (lost track of time;
it flies when you spend it
with love interests);
drowned self in a smaller /
larger world of blue glowing
screens and perpetual music.
One thousand million songs.
Free. Click. Here. Now.

All you lovely strangers so much
more real than real,
so cool and artistic and how I
wish I could write poetry like you.
How I wish.

Open the door and observe:
the human component of
a full parallel circuit.
Exchange and exchange.
Fixated on a blank screen.
Tapping foot to invisible sound.
Typing faster than would talk.

Close the door.
Walk away.

Silence surrounds                                                        ­    The sun still shines
but loneliness cannot exist                                               on this perfect day
Not in a place                                                            ­            except, too often,
where time never quits.                                                       no children play.
It's unfortunate                                                      ­                 The empty park
that bit by decaying bit                                                    beyond these walls
our generations keep                                                             cries in memory
losing grip.                                                            ­             of laughs and falls.
It's a terrifying thought that                                                             ­ But wait,
when asked "what time is it?"                      does hope approach at dawn?
it'll seem foreign and insane                               He pauses to finish a text..
to glance at my wrist.                                                    And then he is gone.

I am now
attached at the thumbs
connected through the fingertips
it thinks for me
navigates for me
reads the minds of others to my face
it is a lens
through which I have access to an invisible world that no one can see
unless they have a prosthetic limb like me

Sending Twitter accounts to an old friend
She does appreciate my suggestion.
We started to live in the digital end
That shall be our final destination.

Texts to texts, dust to dust.

While I consider this not good nor bad
There is a balance between all of this
Facebook statuses while not driving mad
At the sunlight people will start to hiss

Ashes to ashes, blogs to blogs

Email is something we'll never use
So some things are dying down already
But rising from the news, the blues, the hues
Of the spectrum we ride, never steady

Are gaseous ashes to tweets, dust to posts
We just don't know when we should find a host