Poems XIII

Categorical


We were illusion,
television phantasms
and courtesy memos;
mirages on coeval screens.
Show me your Wii
and I'll show you mine too,
glassy, saccharin tweets.

White static's burst
burst us in two
like Limpet, Incredible once.
Licked split us aloud,
sad walkabout's shroud,
a disappeared,
ventured-near show.

Why did that flick in-upon
take me so long
to read you what delved into
Titanic, but better and wetter?
And references never get old,
or so I am told.

Past greets the future,
formidable bliss,
DVR's whirred in and thus,
I'll continue my sojourn
(you press record),
'till the program's become

heartbreakingly strummed
and charred and jejune;
a telethon made for screens' waxy seal --
and made-up illusion,
our made-up illusion,
fantastics the wondering real.







How to Get Your Heart Broken

You'll see a dusky orange sunset from a splattered window.
You'll hear a gular voice and startle up.
You'll think you're in love.  Wait, are you in love?
You'll wait for calls and for calls and for calls.
You'll go to sleep dreaming of rough hands.
You'll wake up dreaming of rough hands.
You'll feel feverish, hot.
You'll feel angry, pissed.
You'll wait for calls and for calls and for calls.
You'll sob.
You'll feel like someone sliced you in half, and then half, and then half again.
You'll feel exposed, vulnerable, rejected.
You'll hate yourself.
You'll forgive yourself, but not really.
You'll know there is nothing more you can do.
You'll realize the bare naked truth.
You'll accept, begrudgingly.
You'll never be the same.
You'll see a dusky orange sunset from a splattered window.