Some days are fat, lucky
rabbit feet—
nuclear green for a man-
made assurance
tiny, bright limbs swing
on backpack ends
your hand, clasped around
a sound—as if you
could have it
#
I await perfection and
watch for it willing to
cast off dead shrubs
in my pruning
this is not good soil;
it is prone to frost
sunshine sickness of
the daily trudged up
for a what’s-it
and a cup of coffee
found memory,
found the shock
of compassion a wave
brot in a new set
of shells, skeletons
awaiting an
eager search—
scrolling image-nasty texts
with a knack
for identifying clickbait—a live
auction for a slice of ham,
a Living Social for
family funeral services, having
a LinkedIn
your other shelves
catching onto the lingo
—too late
on the inside, we’re
INNANET eavesdropping,
sending discount
panties dwn spam
folder longlosts
having the kind of
dreams you don’t
tell anyone about—
not even your mother
board
Instagram-famous is a term
I wish I could unknow
our generation, an after-
thought to digital nativity
scenes—learn quick to
disengage without losing a
well-equipped mirror face
5 ducks stacked in a row
your 10, the same
there are some photos
I would avoid
speaking to at a party
What is a limb without
ends? your voice on
the line feels alien
& too tidy
—I turn away
sometimes miles are a
valuable antidote and I am
feeling wayloaded,
under the weather,
and petty
#
curated smiles for a face
better than well-slept
Why do we desire to follow
strangers? Who here doesn’t
know how to make clock?
I am waiting for another
chime, you are behind
a screen—a
gesticulation
#
lull me bak into a
nothing-to-do,
bak out into green
and screened-out bliss
What is it you wanted?
How far have I come?
there is me and there is
another at the moment
we asks very little and
we stays very still
#
a time to check
the other site:
retrieve
refresh
a wastebin
hours lost on
a scrolling image
that extends down
ward down
past dead letters
and your
latest unsaved
some ghosts
are better
left for good
every
piece of refuse,
a sharp contrast
every day,
high saturation
is it on line or in line? Yesterday
the Internet thot I was dead
yet here I am,
#
WebMD’s got nothing
on my imagination
find letdown & an
ordinary diagnosis
it’s like, okay turn
the knob, fill a page
refuel on dreams
about catastrophe—
the unhinged latch
physicians with poets’ names
and other cosmic jokes
your mother’s face on every
discerning watermelon
a cantaloupe—
her knit brow
plumb the green, pretend
to know the difference
between hollow indication
and ripe specimen What
did the wire say to the dock?
knock, knock
#
I am disappointed
by my Twitter person-
ality—insert metaphor
about ordinary children
planned obsolescence
as purifying ritual
today, I am
reborn in the image
of a marginally
popular cat meme
and feel mostly
unchanged
we want everything
perminint, sd the magician to
the stupid girl who thot an ext
hard drive was insurance
only 976 of those photos were
important
other losses—a favor
in the dream where I find my
hard drive, I am a bad waitress
and I have many angry mouths
to face but the eyes are
all loading docks and the
hands—white noise
#
a mirage for the edge
of autocorrect choices—
tough digits to recall
it was enough then to know
a succession of seven
held by gunpoint, I could
sigh every number of the
phone you lost that night
inside a lakebed ded weight,
you called it—reckless fish
and now I am spelling
“M-u-s-c-l-e M-e-m-o-r-y”
for my permanent emergency
contact—the outlines of
your frame like silk slipping
too swift off the table, call it
presentation, call it erotic
boredom—find me another
soft ghost edited out of the
details in the final plot
all of my friends are
trying to quit the Internet
on every porch, I am seeing
apology bouquets left for dead,
fine red flowers made of mesh
In what city were you born?
What is your mother’s maiden name?
Where did you go to high school?
#
dear here lies blank and
desktop folders of et cetera, a
red hare flashes against yellow
space and each node another nod to
that and more that, and still: I
am printing a Rubik’s Cube
onto my birth certificate
and finding your genealogy
less than exceptional
prosperous small farmers,
middle management,
the solitary life of a safety
engineer
surely, a stint in old Vegas, a
death record that didn’t fit the
bill please o pls, a mistress, an
unloved child that lived on
grit and railroads only
Who was your least favorite boss?
What is the name of your favorite relative not in the immediate family?
#
oh shit-talk,
oh, the still infirmary
of misinformation
you are my only scripture
a tome in tongues
unbending still life
a reason for getting up, for
checking the sightline against
predators before dashing off
across the screen,
a ghost
What is the name of your least favorite teacher?
Where do you want to retire?
What is your dream car?
Where were you New Years 2000?
#
the only progress this gen
has made is abbreviation
and Bluetooth—swap hands and
voila, you are free to move
without appendage I close
a fist before departure
but think ink and transmission:
sum tidy word for increment
I make laundrylusts and a cold
stew for measuring stockpiles
of stone these pages caress
only screensong—gaze up,
stranger
#
oceanic daybed of
lost time, your
frayed edges take on
a smoother look—
more userability
than color code
#
this is what I know
for a fact: there is a
mass message in my
folder that is still
happy to see me culling
frame on frame, we touch
nodes on texts
from siblings, more
blank on ex-lovers,
and X, and X, and X
#
awake a stone,
astounded
and how
#
dear past-tense Internet,
dear never-we-was,
dear interruption and the
scrolling screen, never
turning a page: I awoke
to you, my dear too much,
too much; this never enuf
#
I want to live for
evermore in love with
You in infinite for
ever in this on
going need I need you
and money so go
on leave it, leave
me only now, see
me-only when you
