Relics On a Shelf

Swipe left and right

like trained monkeys

chasing peanut shells

— all smoke and mirrors.

Cutesy messages— meaningless

while looking for the next face

that fixes the void inside

that is never filled by cocktails.

A meat market run by algorithms

and machines that claim dignity,

those last bits of self respect,

pretend the robot didn't choose.

In youth, it feels like freedom

and in aging, it smacks of progress

for them, and faces are mere artifacts

in the online shop for love.

Always searching for more

to fill voids that are bottomless

swipe left, or right, go up or down

and we'll name it endless lust.