I've just seen a face
I can't forget the date and place.
Rent and rending time/space.
Those ubiquitous rules we chew up for the taste.
We're steeped in gloating,
fear, and self-loathing,
dressed up tough like sheep in wolves' clothing,
sleepless, bloated, goading no-ones.
"Proximity means less these days than who is near your heart,"
plus, being close to people never got you very far.
It's nothing special,
it's nothing personal.
All in all
you're just another pic on my wall.
I can't relax,
want to attack
every emoting slacker
with the business-end of fat bra** tacks.
Memory means less these days,
usurped by point of fact;
truth enough to preclude
user's instincts to react
to something special
something personal
the stultified have multiplied,
and it is all your fault.
Spend years and years
convincing peers
that, though we're imperfect,
we are worth it, serviceable,
at least have earned
any sh** they give about us.
Memory means less these days
than who is near your heart,
plus being close to people never got you very far.
What we do is public! Public!