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The day seethes with algorithms . . .

its own ifs ands buts

its own talk-talk about all this . . .

the reprehensible coding

the need to fill in the blanks

the how-tos surfacing then receding

the aura pulsating with an indifference

as if grasping at the straws of forgiveness . . .

It's not so much the illusion of indiscretions

colored for the moment

but something else, something ill-conceived . . .

Not the first time, yes? . . .

No, not the first time . . .

Dismayed by the lines

yet afraid of getting caught . . .

Getting caught? . . .

Yes, getting caught in a lie . . .

Not sold on that idea, at least for now . . .

Blaming yourself . . . hating yourself

you begin thinking

there must be a better way

mired as you are in autofiction . . .

Think about the medieval craftsmen

whose meticulousness is evident

even in the most hidden places of church pews . . .

Scarlet Rivera

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You doubled in spiked heels with a wooden

Louisville Slugger followed by a double header

for oglers-in-training . . . the gearbox

of your Suzuki mimicking the Uggs

you carried in your backpack

for occasional rock-a-days

shredding dirt bikes under the Passaic Falls

as bewildered as pointers in a perfumery

their words baseball trading cards

holding tickets to a Saturday Creature Double Feature

rarely searching for lost time 

as memorialized by a closeted deadhead

scalping instructions for Around the World with a Yo-yo . . .

The passing of notes in your cube

trialed the lifespan of Bics, scribbling spam

for residents of Williams's Ghost Town

awestruck by the pediatrician's It's all in the ear . . .

You journeyed elsewhere with a Moleskine notebook

capturing comments from the fringe . . .

your never-ending tour rivaling Rimbaud's Illuminations . . .

There were moments when it seemed to all come together

but those were dreamscapes from a Five & Dime

that shipped closeouts to dugouts

when security was busy resetting cameras

while superimposing fairytale footage for power trippers . . .

It turned out to be the luck of the draw . . .

Eva Tokarchuk

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Your medieval wall hangings talk the talk

for fact-checkers . . . opportunists

firing up fire pits . . . preachy-like . . .

If it comes off . . . and well, I mean,

when was the last time that dropped? . . . 

not unlike the whiteout

that made driving crazy

for tagalongs from other times, other worlds . . .

You found magic in the lower forty

asking directions

which prompted questions

from passersby rubbernecking in disbelief . . .

Eva Tokarchuk

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Your irresponsibility was sharp and gorgeous

with inconspicuous chords

that stayed the complexity of the moment

which you mentioned looked you in the eye

before settling elsewhere . . .

Quite fascinating, yes? . . .

This moment caught on tape

in the land of painful blisses . . .

Bricks will merge with sand

leaving others sipping tea

while scrolling through terms of endearment

for ohhs and ahhs . . .

It seems all the same . . .

these striped ventures loaded with guilty pleasures

seducing implants with aromatic codes

written late at night by amanuenses on leave . . .

Antonio Palmerini

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You're removing persons of interest

from the two-way mirror in your room . . .

The decision is pretense . . .

Several will chime in with ghost bubbles . . .

The bath works wonders

but please be careful not to overdo it

especially when the plug is pulled . . .

Your smartphone has gone radio silent

while interrogators make their way

along the Street of Crocodiles

with other reconfigured short stories

eager to disappoint . . .

The disinterest unsettles . . .

An iceburg moment, no doubt,

trying to savor the latest vintage

with concomitant misspellings . . .

Eugenio Recuenco

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You invent words in a secret garden

where you can walk and talk to yourself

without your mobile . . .

You owe it to others to approach exultation . . .

Can you lose the punctuation?  . . .

Can you ever be alone? . . .

Open mics replace your words

to begin the game of on-and-on . . .

Your hair will commence momentarily . . .

this and that . . . this and that . . .

Laura Zalenga

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You're talking rinky-dink geometries

for future listeners of Symphony No. 7

in A major . . . Allegretto . . .

endless drive-throughs of muted thoughts

while shuffling pages for reenactors . . . 

jotting embellishments

which one can only hope will carry the theme

to the next apotheosis in the score . . .

Cutting the deck proves nothing . . .

the cards jumping through the hoops of b-ball

for insomniacs boggling smartphone screens

rhapsodically nightmarish . . .

You want to believe in running the changes

laid out in microtones

as if auditionees crowding the wings for a chance

to enter a reminiscence will be given the go-ahead . . .

Monika Ekiert Jezusek