Emails bottleneck at the back door
dangling profiles and memory hooks and terms of endearment
setting off smoke detectors
with lines like You are always on my mind
shifting irresistibly in Aeron ergonomic chairs
(permanent at MoMA)
the meter clicking off degrees of freedom
between you and whomever
your knees weak from the algorithm
you've been tweaking from the get-go.
Everyone has flirt options
especially when cloud banks dictate seasonal rates
and we riffle through closets for long sleeves
only to default to comforters.
The plot thickens.
Spare me the cliches, please!
I'm Kindling into you and your root cellar.
Do we have enough food and drink to weather the weekend?
To weather the sparring?
Bassoonists insinuate themselves into my dreams
retreating into anonymity when I look behind the curtain
and find your handwritten notes.
The drama of reading not unlike puppetry.
Pulling the strings, yes?
Where will you be on the night of October 12th, 201_?
The loneliness of the high seas.
And of course Job qua Ishmael:
I only am escaped alone to tell thee.
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| Ivona, Princess of Burgundia (Opole Puppet Theater) |