While I’m working on drafts of others.

This is how they get you:

Everything on TV

is actually

the twenty-first century.


That technology does not exist


The nineteenth century subway,

the hot stink of crowds

milling and pushing

at every corner, seething to

that crisp, cool

well-ordered future.


The draw of store windows,

clever dreams, coasting

on flimsy old enterprise.

The old medicine show.

The piles of peaches, crates

of pears, when possible

brushed aluminum should

cover everything.


So: look

at them when

they are at home.


The dream traded

like a coin

for forgetting

The reverie





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