poem

I Come From NailClip Theater, How About You?
for every kid in their 20's

Shock houses on the hill skype box check
Photo me this photo me that
Pressing send shouts pressing what have we
Buffalo poorness glistening
To retrieve your Boulder in mid-air text delight
A house there on a hill some snow there on a thrill
And the tragic tropic tiger tire skids on dotted lines so remind me
What commas are for again? Somewhere
driving home we breathe with no rest so "can I
come over I need to rest". A dream of absolutes
Is not possible but we know that abstract parodies
When performed is our tiny desire to be like god
An arrangement of pattern, text message gossip
Heroes at the center of sport or small town
Muscle blogs in the subtle making
There is no Pulitzer here, just real fucked up calculations
On a suspension of belief in the future
With all the things we haven't yet made
In this digital metatheater tinkering and awake
Already clipped and nailed on eternity's cheekbone.