Page Loading . . .

. . . hook-up, and you were there too
waiting; knowledge is that unreliable
season or illness, control
then becomes myth
although a useful one, the net’s
working hum jacks into rooms

we rush to fix it

once, i am sure, we sat staring
at the same image at the same moment—
a kind of 21st Century tenderness that
synergy and words
falter accordingly . . .

it’s that state of constant looking
that syringes our lives, solders our
agility to look away, ways
that redirect

sluice out into open spaces . . .

and still,
loading . . .

various nations die online;
some imaginations do that, corroded
and privatized, the world is harvested
out from under, muted in
solidarity,
shame

click click i thought the words would
establish themselves
without puppet dictators

me and my naïve mac

light is not all the same quantity
or price; even it betrays the flesh

crashes aren’t nature-loving, aren’t
used to being
more than occasionally
a cleansing

and so we sit
late at night
waiting . . .

spun truths, the either/or of pixels,
that is where my heart may have been lost

not a fantastical heart but
muscle
beating like in a deep sleep: slowing, slowing, slowing . . .