It was becoming difficult to be–
Without (at the same moment) being seen.
Surveillance’s continuous saccades
Were there, profiling each chattering ‘I,’
Assembling Cubist portraits from snapshots
Of e-communiqués and satellite feeds–
Small slivers of what makes us ‘you’ and ‘me,’
All siphoned from the web and then re-thought
According to the Weltanschauung of spies.
The borders separating truth from lies
Had dimmed, as context spun from our control,
Relinquished to the media’s shifting light....
We pined after identity by night,
Then held our secrets closer to our souls.