The unbearable lightness of you sporting a bowler
(à la Lena Olin?) . . . slipping through an incognito window . . .
The notion that what goes around . . .
goes around an infinite number of times . . .
cameoed . . . cinemascoped . . .
as if Super-8s were the new now . . .
You sidestep the warp . . . and buy time
on the dotted line . . .
the nearness suffocating (as always?)
the decades-old memory of lovemaking
on a bunk bed . . . deconstructed . . .
with you pining for an inspection sticker . . .
a Möbius strip ensuring non-orientableness . . .
maintaining the mystery . . . for the before-after crowd . . .
rainbowed and enigmatic . . .
The naiveté of post-Internet security thugs
libraried . . . in the 800 stacks . . .
Purging the past with a keystroke, yes? . . .
There's always a room of one's own for everyone on this tug
chuffing its way through the Isles of Langerhans . . .
All you need is faith
To hear the diesels humming . . .
News that's fit to 3D print . . .
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| Lena Olin in The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1988) |