Screen Dump 481

You paraphrase delusions on street corners
for pocket change . . . The eyes of beholders
diagram the angles of seduction . . .
A steam locomotive stalls mid-steam . . .
sizzling something fierce in concert
with a pig roast where locals unravel
their histories of . . . Hooliganism,
I suppose . . . in throwaways . . . Is it? . . .
channeling Stevie Nicks's Gypsy . . .
outtakes left as gratuities by troubadours
passing through backwaters . . .
Bookbinding . . . the art of chance
for personal trainers with perfect form
qua function . . . The plot agape
as she leans in with a tearjerker
about her deadbeat dad . . .
a concert violinist from Siberia
who knew the score only too well . . .
mapping the lonely corridor along
cholesterol clogged arteries festering
coronaries . . . The monologue . . .
soliloquy? . . . speaks nonsense to partners
in loco parentis as they appear . . . trailing
incomplete sentences . . .
A show of hands indeed would . . .

Stevie Nicks

Screen Dump 480

You raise the stakes . . . then flee to CVS for ibuprofen . . .
ignoring tabled warnings . . .
emergency room regulars triaged . . . color-coded . . .
A big-shouldered cybertruck roams rotaries . . .
and the rules of the game are about to change
as the pizza arrives . . . and Act 2 begins . . .
You know you're trying to dress the part
with insignificance . . . but the clock shouts-out
circumstantial evidence from the inquiry . . .
and we're out of the gate, stuttering and stumbling . . .
retracing our steps to Utopia . . .
Inner ear hair cell damage from gangster flicks
with pals De Niro and Pacino and Pesci
and another epic conversation . . . conversion . . .
on the streets of Everytown . . .
shrink-wrapped and UPS'd to an offshore laundromat . . .

Deborah Turbeville

Screen Dump 479

You worry Wonderland . . . and free shipping . . .
beta testing mantras on moonless nights
when peeling windows in SROs
look out onto playgrounds of orphans . . .
Boulevards drip off the edge of the canvas
for odysseyites tricked-out as centenarians from empty malls . . .
You surf YouTube for blue ribbon grilled cheese sandwiches
and think a field drill of sorts might help flip
the double-wides popping up in your lower 40
where answers in search of questions pester pensioners
who pine for the palisades of their entry exam
when they arrived late with bags of bags
sporting the endgame into the second
of five openings culled from a dog-eared how-to manual . . .

Anka Zhuravleva