29 May 2017 – Alone
You pen your poems and fling them out on Facebook,
while praying someone sees and gives a damn,
confusing “Likes” with honest human caring,
and THAT’S the gawd-forsaken Muse’s scam.
I’d rather have a friend to meet for dinner,
or spend the night while strumming our guitars.
These Christmas-Letter status updates tease us,
but can’t fill lonely space or heal our scars.
What good is admiration from a distance
when space decrees you’re doomed to die alone?
Like steaks you drool for in a glass display case
are “friends” you cannot touch, or see, or know.