POETRY

Second Impressions

And scripted conversations

Photo by Anastasiya Badun from Pexels

See through me
not at me
no one looks up anymore
it isn’t indifference
we self-diagnose conditions
administer pleasure
and pain
in permissible quantities
funneling feelings
toward collective dartboards
warding off ambushes
dodging ruptures in walls.

That joke I wrote
three nights ago
and delivered as improvised
encasing the moment
I was registered
as unforgettable
swimming from shores
toward fated letdowns
wishing I could hit dismantle
and keep my jaws locked.

Different people
duplicate dances
an appetite to know more
conjectures posing as adjectives
it’s a tradition
formative as time
hobbies filed as passions
compartments indexed in order
we let ingenuity distract us
from constant, monotone static.