Screen Dump 119

The laundry has moved out-of-state . . .
leaving you with unanswered emails . . . and impossible dreams . . .
Insinuations aside, there will be crossings . . .
and crossovers . . . and crosstrainers . . .
and crossdressers . . .
Yesterday wants to return . . .
and you agree . . . in principle . . .
Your hand was played out in the chorus line at the bar . . .
Your lips - full and optimistic - were synced . . .
with the inoffensive tap selections . . .
and low-cal menu . . .
Your voice has suggested a boxed set of anachronisms . . .
to go with your neon pink lycra shorts and tank top . . .
Do you still love what you loved? . . .
Do you still stalk the fast forward? . . .
If you were to again read these lines . . .
would you be able to disregard the blank pages . . .
the blank stares? . . .
Why do you insist on parsing recycled sentences . . .
when the moments are few . . .
and the stargazers have zipped up their hoodies . . .
for an overnight . . .
an overnight filled with the sadness of gramophones . . .
and the folding/unfolding of the ocean? . . .

Paolo Roversi

Woman XLV

A tit for a tat . . . imagine that
purred the cat . . . listening to Bird
parse Ornithology.

Peter Yang

Screen Dump 118

Why do you . . . jingle your bracelets in mere idle sport?
          - Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener

Peterpanitis . . . in a path-oh-logical game . . . of give and take . . .
a game . . . of thrones . . .
Demanding . . . with pout . . . that he/she play a role . . .
in the latest installment . . .
the latest catch-as-catch-can . . .
with you again as always on top . . . in control . . .
Why should "they" have all the fun? . . .
Balking . . . becoming discombobulated . . .
becoming obsessed with the riddle of opposites . . .
with the out-of-sorts attractions . . .
with the mirror image of requests . . .
tagged in Facebook's trailer park . . .
Is this why the past is still here? . . .
Why they couldn't put Humpty together again? . . .
Something about being frozen . . . in time? . . .
in chain mail? . . .
The emptiness of the final analysis . . .
You expose more than your hand . . .
then tally onlookers . . .
counting birthstones sparkling in the afterglow of your wake . . .
as unconvincing as . . .

David Benoliel

Screen Dump 117

Words are few.
          - Samuel Beckett, A Piece of Monologue

I underline your words . . . capture in charcoal your undulations . . .
Following the path you mapped . . . for others . . .
Blindfolded . . . on horseback . . .
You draw lost causes . . . and lamentations . . . as if nothing . . .
Your bankrupt cereal bowl . . . (pause) . . .
Think of the times . . . (faces turn down) . . .
Seductrix of organ donors . . . unending specimens . . .
For next to nothing . . . even though a county fair . . .
The Aesthetics of Japanese Design . . .
Folding back the corner of the page . . .
Now look at what you've done! . . .
Passing you on the way to the subway . . .
Bags of groceries chatting up jaw lines and other such irreconcilables . . .
Meeting for a bite . . . the spiraling down . . .
Tailspinning with cadavers, yes? . . . Ours so meager . . . yet . . .

David Benoliel

Screen Dump 116

Who in her long melancholy search for her missing children
found . . . another orphan.
          - Herman Melville, Moby Dick

You tag lines from Tracy Chapman's Fast Car . . . for redirects . . .
Your memory not jogged by words . . .
Your midnight rides . . . insufficient . . .
A time and a place . . . for everything, yes? . . .
For us? . . .
You've been known to bend . . .
to accommodate . . . loose canons . . .
and rainy days and Mondays . . .
A role reprised for playback . . .
The forecast old . . . little to prattle on about . . .
excepting the exodus of sunbirds . . .
Road crew bosses hunched over indecipherables . . .
Unwelcomes arrive . . .
You decide to engage a psychic . . .
and will remain, as always, with a houseful . . . of overturned books . . .
and optimistic orphans . . .

Sarah Moon

Screen Dump 115

You pace yourself with mediocre red wine . . .
preparing for a trip to Pier 1 . . .
rattan and bamboo having kept you up all night . . .
A Wittgenstein lookalike passes . . . at a loss for words . . .
He waits tables . . . weather permitting . . .
and is the neighborhood Trivial Pursuit Champ . . .
Like Bill Cosby, his real life is more complicated . . .
One day you will forget who you are . . .
Your shoes will switch feet . . .
Your earlobes will droop . . .
You will have become your costume . . .
your reputation discolored by one too many two-night stands . . .
Little matter, I will continue to kick your butt in chess . . .
and serve you bowls of my too-hot soup . . .
and read aloud to you my ho-hum poems . . .
and carry you . . . in the fall . . . to the river . . .
so you can see the Canada geese flying home . . .

Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison

Screen Dump 114

You count out ten paces . . .
You will continue to revisit this . . . in costume . . .
demanding a refund . . . and the capture of irrelevancies . . .
McDonald's wrappers soaking the passenger seat . . .
Your mental acumen . . . naked in the bedroom . . .
answers 20 questions . . .
The eyes in the window . . .
Crowing at dawn . . . Imagine the buzz! . . .
You have rubbed the relationship raw . . . the reality balderdash . . .
A fool channel surfing as an excuse . . .

David Benoliel

Screen Dump 113

Speaking in tongues to besotted dust bunnies . . .
Cutie and the Boxer . . .
Chaucerian . . . with sprinkles . . .
taking you back . . . to the corner eye-candy store . . .
where nightly you'd buy into the theory . . .
of come what may . . .
and risk becoming your costume . . .
nostrils engorged with Cuneiform Days . . .
your version of Blake's unexpurgated
Songs of Innocence . . .
Wild nights should have been your luxury . . .
your legacy . . .
but you were misrepresented . . .
in letters of introduction . . .
wind chimes closeting your empty promises . . .
delivery vans warming up . . .
You expected more . . . we all did . . .
but were left at the crossroads . . . in that movie . . .
most have forgotten . . .