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

-
-
We've made iPhone covers for our hearts
So we can pretend that we're just texting when it feels awkward just connecting,
face-down on the pavement of another human soul.

there is a buzzing
     it's coming from the walls
the tiny electrical snaps and synapses
the mindhive that seethes
the radios and beeping pulses
we have reached the
singularity.

I want to speak your language. The language of warfare. Intellectual fornication. Lewd romance.

I want your socio. Your mad scientist. I want your hot breath and the touch of your whip.

I want your contradictions and your lies. Your formulas and numbers. I want your cold, cold hands upon mine.