Liturgy of Modern Love: III (prose interval)

It occurs to me as slanted Autumn sun comes into the carriage that a lot of people who have said that they would keep in touch have not kept in touch and that makes me sad.  What use were the crazed confessions of love now that days are spent in front of Excel edifices?  I track my dissonant lovers through an ether previously unavailable to me.  It is Web 2.0, an awkward and gauche term for what might well be termed your living history.  Ghosts tangle and dangle in front of your weary senses and you press a button to exit a screen.  Slanted Autumn sun has told me all things must fade but that the beauty and Love is there like the dust on the rose bowl: you must disturb it.  Look at the glitter (dust) ! Look at the glitter (dust) as it falls to the ground.

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