I don't want to join
the myspace generation.
I don't want to be faintly flattered
by pretty girls from Sweden.
I don't want to be 'friends'
with hairy men from Glasgow.
I don't need local rock bands
selling me their download only single.
(And everyone is single.)
I don't want some random randy chick
cluttering my web-space.
I don't want some half-arsed frat-boy blog
poisoning my head-space.
My space is the air between these fingers
my space consists of silent thoughts that linger
my space is the space between these walls
when the door is locked, and the day is old.
If you've any comment on this poem, Adam Sear would be pleased to hear from you.