A sound -snap- and the light
returns; blinking and wiping grime
from the corners of my eyes.
I see her there, perfect eyes reflecting
my projection; trace her down past
perfect chin to perfect breasts.
In overlay, I see her true self.
Icons and data and thoughts and photos
and family and history and what's her
favorite movie, song, author, blog,
Not an invasion - rather, this is a first
date of sorts. A "getting to know"
her process, instantly, as she does
with me, cutting out the extraneous
She pulls up the back of my bed
and now I'm sitting. She reads my
chart, fluid lights on transparent optics
transmitted directly to her memory.
"It's going well," she says through
lips perfected by committee.
And when the
Whirring fan blades flap
Into my ears, white noise
Deafening, drowning out
The ever-present multimedia cacophany of first-person shooters and snarky remarks from "comedic" artists and twenty-four-hour news of bombings and truth and angry music from angry young men who have nothing to be angry about so they are angry about that and caffeinated smiles stapled onto the bottle-tanned faces of fabricated morning talk-show hosts and tablets bleeping and clicking and phones blasting ringtones of angry music by angry young men who...
Well, you know...
I just wanna crawl into a hole and
get away from it. That's not a very
original idea, but it's how things are.
So I unplug, and I read a book.
Well, in between Tweets and status updates
I try to write, but I need mood music,
so out comes the angry music made by...
yeah, that again.
Ugh, I'm trapped in my head, hating
myself for falling into the same pattern - the recursive loop
again, so I turn on the TV to dull
that part of me that thinks.
I see a caffeinated smile. It's stapled.
So I turn on my phone and computer. I'll learn
something new. I'll write that poem.
After I see how that movie did last weekend and oh, I didn't know that celebrity couple split up and hey did you see the awards show last night and did you see what she was wearing, and there was a sad story today about a woman who
This chotchkey is on sale for this weekend only.