Instant communication, instant connection
to all the things you don’t need to know, while
delaying access to what you want to know better.

Algorithms substitute advertising for real content,
tell the part of the story a corporation can profit from.

An era where human beings have faster and greater
access to knowledge and information, we are mostly
pacified by empty words, pretty pictures, and
trumped up tales of misfortune, instead of
searching for the truth.

Depth is now disposable.

Conveniently forgotten.

Now, content with content, what we learn lingers
only as long as our interest is answered. Then
we are hijacked on this information highway by
bright signs indicating a turn in our attention.

Memory amiss. Gone in an instant.

What do we really know?

 

© 2022 j.g. lewis

     Pocket change
                   feeds the greedy meter,
   vending machines: soda pop,
     condom, or a packet of gum.
                  The constant jingle-jangle
     trumps empty pockets.
           Not wealth; but necessary.
         Everlasting value, heavy metal
   cold, hard cash. Lucre or lolly,
     random coinage, specific amounts;
                           it is what we carry.

   We spend more than our time.
            Streetcar fare. Legal tender:
     nickels, dimes, quarters,
   a dollar or two, even a penny
for your thoughts.
                     For all it is worth.
   Petty cash. Chump change; a pittance.
      Spare change? asks the panhandler.
     Anything helps.
                It all adds up to a valuation
                measured in dollars and sense.

© 2022 j.g. lewis

Devious minds, intimacy in kind, we
struggle with familiar strangers. All of us,
each one of them.

Discomfort is obvious, bewildering.
The greater the distance, the closer
it comes to moral destruction.

Ironically, we have lost so much faith.
Confidence or insecurity, one in the same,
depending on the view.

Wisdom found in the history books; rarely
do we crack the spines. Politicians and thieves now
the easiest marks. Poor excuses.

Everybody wants something, and somebody,
to blame. Vast nations of nobodies remain
unaccountable for perennial shame.

You can’t tell me anything, anytime,
that will make a difference. Why
would I listen?

I can be nothing, or nobody, to you
so I need not provide a reason. Fact.
Few have the information

Nobody knows. Few care. I am silent.
What can I say? Still you ask. Requests
fall on closed ears.

Noise. Always with the queries,
insecurity always there. Ever-present.
We know so little of each other.

I too have questions. Always. I often do
Tell me about your problems,
tell me about you

© 2018 j.g. lewis

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
– Emily Dickinson

The health crisis we continue to suffer through is at
best inconsistent, and at worst a dangerous descent
into a system systematically infected by political
opportunists and fully-fledged false charm.

 

 

 

                  uncertainty comes with change
                  in the weather

                     whether you know it
                                   or not

            the coming rain
            impending pain
             all part of this life as we feel it
                               as we see it

                   as we believe it to be

                         we seek shelter
                      relief from the constant heat and humidity
                         of our days

                exorbitant excess
                we feel only regret

                                  an imbalance

                                                         if we have time
                                                       we seek comfort
                                                   if only in our mind

                 it is only uncertainty
                 all in all a probability

                   if we can live with that
        we can curb our expectations
                        whether we know it
                                   or not

 

© 2022 j.g. lewis