Talking to Gwen about the un-dead on Facebook [Poetry Brainstorm]

All the people are happy Gwen. The pictures on Facebook. Look at their faces. Smiling. No trace of Rust on those smiles. Dispensable, this emotional restitution has left us, slave hungry users, all the millions of faces/ names that kill the language of silence. Beck beck beck-on in self-absorption–an electronic therapy gift where friendship is for sale. 1.2.3. live live live for this profile, distort the afterthought. Wish they were all dead like you and me. these un-dead profiles, unburied. Ground-Dead. No one wants to hear it. No one wants to know. Pretty things. the lively seances ‘all bright’ flicker from the wireless. A hydra channel of electronic and virtual spoil. A fluster of madness, perhaps. What do you think? Incognito identites ripping through the torn wishes from every shower curtain that lives in waiting for a second, third, fourth, free baptism to play in a succubus void of flesh. The holy water now a wire; it spouts from the god-head. Over the brain surge. This is the weathering effect of wireless words.

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