Screen Dump 455

But then you find that the sensation diminishes
with repetition . . . Proust's disappointment
with his second and third swallow of tea . . .
the banality of it all . . . a constant . . .
Memorializing the parties of the unlined and bushy
slipping tongues nonchalantly
as if the clock had indeed been stopped . . .
No need to calculate the obliqueness now . . .
wait for the commercial break
when you can stretch and raid the fridge
and adjust the cushions
out of earshot of the contrarians at the gate . . .
An unstrung marionette finds words
in the redacted script . . . the basement trashed
by cleaners sent in to do the white thing . . .

Monika Ekiert Jezusek

Screen Dump 454

The late-winter cookout in the backyard
with everything growing silent
riding the elevator into the snow-filled basement
categorizing Kondo's declutter:
clothes, books, papers, komono, mementos
sparking photographic memories
of late-night talk shows
the predation . . . and willingness
to report that it was a joke . . . it was plastic . . .
keep your hands raised . . .
It becomes second-nature . . .
icing on the endgame . . .
the snow without surcease
as you sweep flakes into the palm of your left hand
a shopping cart out of control in a parking lot . . .
You are sprung to joy on the treadmill at the gym
while on the wall TVs
feature muted images of raised hands . . .
The color-coding continues despite warnings
that elevated bowls may cause bloat . . .
You tend to take things in stride . . .

Monika Ekiert Jezusek

Screen Dump 453

Armchair vacancies rant the airspace . . .
retire their uniforms in the middle of the game
and leave . . . to dissolve . . .
in the current . . .
The facsimile life . . . the well-oiled facsimile life . . .
aborts the highway . . .
curtailing alternatives with bipolarity
for archivists on coffee break . . .
How did you know the dancer
was about to attempt a villanelle? . . .
Bystanders capture moments . . .
before and after . . . after and before . . .
and again . . . but remain glued to the well-trodden . . .
And you? . . .

Hannes Caspar

Screen Dump 452

Calling your lost dog . . . who isn't lost
as if you need to tell someone
that something strange is about to happen . . .
a stylishly ill-advised moment
walking through the neighborhood
calling your lost dog . . . who isn't lost . . .
The incompleteness hits you on the ride home
and you fashion descenders
where mistakes have real consequences . . .
400 forgeries is nothing to poo-poo . . .
Simplification made simple, yes? . . .
as in the final scene where
the morning's cereal box
speaks to Scorsese's rat crawling
out the door . . .
This day like a few others lately feels rigged . . .
and grocery shopping won't be enough
to fend off the players - extras? - queuing up
at the entrance to your exit . . .
The jigsaw puzzle of attraction
with pieces scattered throughout your dreamscape
prompts you to play the mask
with a rush as diagrammed . . . at eye level . . .

Hannes Caspar

Screen Dump 451

An ultrasound tech . . . presents with pomegranates
small talks the front page
leaning in . . . as if quarterbacking . . .
Moments bespeak moments . . .
The reconfiguration of camera angles . . .
speechless at an open mic . . .
the ride home a hacked password . . .
Why now the interruption? . . .
Friends of friends arrive with leeks
count the take of the toll . . .
A scuffle in the meat department is captured on 36 iPhones . . .
Bigger . . . and BIGGER protein . . .
Is a life lived in faux fur a life lived? . . .
Another interruption . . .
You retreat to a labyrinth of overheard words . . .
grammatically indifferent words . . .
words in yellow vests . . . SANCTUARY . . .
Your impatience with the inanimate
grows with the stick-built . . .
the accountability of staking seedless tomatoes
as artifacts for the impossible . . .
Are the wine legs as they should be? . . .
You know the drill . . . when will you decide? . . .
Self-starters are bused to a starting line
confused by lifestyle changes
and made to consider a cache of meds
with no guarantee . . .
The comedy of monotony informs your late nights . . .
There was a time . . . not that long ago . . .
Take this down . . . breathe in . . . hold . . .
breathe out . . . Here's another . . . breathe in . . .

Ellen von Unwerth