we weren’t meant

for the Internet.

to “know” people

thousands of miles away,

to “reconnect” with people

from high school

(except at reunions)

to evaluate

–and be evaluated by—

the masses deemed

haters, fans, or followers

(what happened to the lovers?)

–f*ck even the language is mutated

bellwether terms abbreviated,

and so knelling

(you can’t unring that bell)

because we are all so inundated

(here kitty, kitty Grumpy cat)

besieged by media

point and click

like and share

& comment and emoji

(the ugliest hieroglyphic)


we all gtg

(right the f*ck now)

and we all know we have to gtg


because it’s right there

–on fuh beebs

on Instagram

on Snapchat

on an app as yet nascent, and

is that awkward?

not for long

NFL & sure


which doesn’t mean lots of love

but loads and loads of derisive braying out loud laughter

–a nervous response, in an inundated world

such shallow-ed terms

–which rhymes with hallowed , and is its opposite

damned you know

when all dams are breaking loose

–f*ck, why can’t I just order all of life online?

why isn’t there an app for that yet?

(the tech titans are falling behind)

I want to print my pizza.

I want to post my need.

I want to stare at this screen until the final screen falls

–when my system is no longer compatible with new software

–when my epitaph reads like a meme.

About Charron's Chatter

I bring to you an arrow, whole, Use it, or break it, But if you choose to take it --Know-- With it also, I will go. © Karen Robiscoe @1992

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