Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

Buddha had three temptations under the Bo tree.
Satan tried to entice Jesus in the wilderness.
And we, modern people, have the false shine of Instagram.

A variable buffet perfectly curated by artificial intelligence,
which I’m beginning to think might actually be smarter than us—
or at least smarter than me,
who did not know these desires were in me
until someone, partnered, sponsored,
showed me what I was missing.

And somehow I am seeing thousands of people a day
without ever leaving my house, and they are all different,
yet not. They all greet me—“Hi guys!” “Hey turnips!”—
or whatever pet name they’ve given us,
we the lonely, we are together and apart,
while they all wear the same cheeks
and lips and makeup
and hair.

Perhaps, I tell you—just between us—
for months I have been wondering
if maybe any of it is real,
or maybe all of it is, maybe this
motioning, motioning, motioning
all around me
is what real looks like now.

Ugh, shut the fuck up.
Real, real, real—
relative.

I am listening to two boys argue over how real
pro wrestling is. We are in grade school.
Those are the same people now,
only debating A.I.

I’m so fucking tired.
I do not want to keep pretending
this is a meaningful distinction.