Poem: Screenery

 

Screenery

 

action visuals,

globs of crimson and flesh.

bright chunks of glitz that lunge and hover

near the couch where i sit,

hunnched into the strobe,

 

and i wonder why

i am allowed to think at all

in the presence of such beautiful vomit.

 

all day it vomits,

pretending to feel,

as if the tears ‘in there’

could be the same as mine,

except they have no weight,

and they come and go, so quick,

 

and the blotches and jumbles

of pain or giggles

make it impossible to believe

there’s a true princess-kiss

 

somewhere

 

in that sliver of crystal-ball-glassy plastic,

that babble of light-and-shallow shadow shows.

no one real is really coming out

to see me.

the luminous discharge

slides off my mouth, my eyes, my face.

no one.

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