I’m watching her first,
and mine, replay themselves. Our
conversation’s *mute.
OR
*gone.
OR
*dead.
I’m watching her first,
and mine, replay themselves. Our
conversation’s *mute.
OR
*gone.
OR
*dead.
We have deep talks when/
her device gives insights. Else,/
I’m left to myself.
AND
I thought myself wise,
insightful, worth talking to.
I’m boring, replaced.
AND
Were I wisked away,/
I would not be missed. She could/
still comment to friends.
AND
Some fight unfaithful/
lovers. Others get replaced/
by technology.
AND
If porn is wrong ‘cuz/
it subs for intimate love,/
what is device talk?
You view me
from Romania
and Australia
and Algeria
and India
and South Africa
and Russia
and throughout
North and South
America,
and sometimes,
mon,
the islands,
Jamaica,
and Barcelona
and ahhhh,
I don’t know who
you
are,
or why
you
read
my work,
or what search
brought you over the see
to see
me
and my poetry.
Can’t you just
check in?
Say a few words
about the words
I’ve written?
Explain
why we crossed paths?
So I don’t have to wonder
what wander
brought you
to connect
with me
one way only?
Take a chance!
Connect! Trust!
(Unless you’re from France.
Then we’ll speak of Jerry Lewis.)
I like when we talk/
because our discussions help/
congeal truthful thoughts*.
OR
*thoughts of truth
Must I always be/
one who starts conversations?/
Should I be patient?