Having discarded the template-a-minute app
as an unbearable lightness
confused by impersonators
you engage the drudgery of filling in the slots
while polishing stones from a not-so-hidden cache . . .
Altogether now with meaning, yes? . . .
You're drifting off-course . . .
the day's minutia fogging the lens
to say nothing of wannabes warming up . . .
The little green room is plantless . . .
an amalgam of exchange
without dawn's pristine view
reaching back for a foothold
or facsimile
which in time will revisit this memory . . .
This is not without precedent
but the moment-to-moment displacement
is hard to accept . . . let alone confront . . .
Your call-ins have been duly noted . . . and archived . . .
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| Leila Forés |