Monday, July 13, 2020


How is it 
that there is still a word for this?
The quantized width 
and depth of your bits 

entering me, explicitly,
at many 10s of 1000s of cycles per minute,
eliciting a unique chemical response, 

much less 
on the fragile and windswept vagaries 
of your erstwhile intent 
than the metamorphosed truth of 

my present situation; what it feels like 
to listen, again and again,
to the exact same missive
amid hundreds of disparate 

days of this sprawling, unorganized 
mess of a generation, I am glad 
not to be able to express.
As is so often the case, I try 

some of your lyrics 
on for the occasion—breathlessly 
moving my lips around, feeling
your words in my mouth.