Greg Scott Brown

A new word to explain
technology's mad love
for impermanence.

Bugs trapped in quicksilver,
no one survives our enthusiasm.
This is why we tweet

all the livelong effing day
about who we no longer adore,
attend to, or make immortal in some corner

of our half-pint universe,
those five-thousand intimates
a click away from being unsung.

Because society is work, the deep dig
through inconvenient blood and bone.
And, anyway, we're alone.