"BICAMERAL, THE GLITCH IN TWO"
BICAMERAL, THE GLITCH IN TWO
Sweet smoke scattered striae and thin
under the flinching chandelier,
songs from 2000 splintering sound—I walk in
surveying this whisky tavern. Feel my body
settle into a velveteen sofa without someone.
I let things happen to me, let things become
because I’m a tourist in life. Static
jellyfishes through the room,
settling, quaking, settling. I walk out,
where everything is perfumed and stiff
by a shot of cold.
I vacationed here the last time I slept,
weathered by a burning pockmarked desert
as the wind runs wild with predatory sands.
I set up an umbrella and canvas chairs—a weak partition
to keep out the blazing corridors of sunlight,
sudden and wanting. Everything is sand or air,
except for the loose strands of canvas
that glitch in the periphery, becoming
the absence of something.
I fatten these dreams to make them docile,
but they only expose me.
3 February, 2021