(Hello Facebook my old friend,
I’ve come to sit with you again)
In a public book of avatar faces
We meet without touching,
Talk without speaking:
The background echoes
Of a minstrel-prophet.
Did he really see what was coming?
Is it so wrong to crave silence?
To try to turn up a collar
Against the ego, babble and nonsense?
That time of year:
Grave winter becoming
That soul-search time of night,
That stage of unexplored friendship:
Depths innocently plumbed.
There’s no music
That I can hear.
This is a song
I can never sing.