Poem for January 11, 2010

[NOTE: every name mentioned in this poem will have been replaced in one year.

OK. Maybe in one generation . . . I’ll give them/myself that.]

everything is a collage.

our thoughts are not our thoughts, and the images that we perceive are no longer our images, they

are the images that we encounter in our google searches and the words that we speak

are not our words:they are only the words that we repeat from what we
read on twitterfall, and our sense

of

location, we do not

position ourselves to north/south/eastor/west, anymore,
we are only

where we see ourselves on our cellphone GPS/and
our friends, our real friends, we can only touch on

Facebook, and our only thoughts are the thoughts that we
write on our blogs, and we say

nothing

but what we speak into
our webcams to upload to YouTube,

nothing else is real but this.

We are now the

nothing real,

but this.