Life on the Screen

Do you remember when I first loved you?
Do you think of the first time spoken?


There were crowds around me that day:
   crowds ambling on their way to business
   crowds nosing into the daily happenstance
   crowds peeping in to see our faces (mine in real time, yours, a mere picture on a screen)

I told you then. I TOLD you then:


"Of course I love you."




And now...it's all too true.

"Of course I love you," when you snore instead of smile.
"Of course I love you," when you point and prod after a long, hard day.
"Of course I do," when questions becomes accusing.
"Of course," as water drips from my ever-leaking eyes.

Damn allergic eyes.

The sand surrounds us and swallows us whole.
The noise external obliterates the sweetness of whispers.
The traffic blocks the easy walks.
The rage and pressures eviscerate the calm and comfort.
The town of desperation swallows us whole.



I'm sinking now,


          I'm sinking now,





  (I'm sinking now)

into a discomfort lined with razors (the pointed edges, not the flat).
The pinpricks that surround me leave me no wiggle, wriggle, giggle room--
I see a cool and comfy spot!




--Oh wait.



It's just reflections from
the daggers
from the daggers of the razor blades of
broken hopes of
shattered dreams of
pieces of your face in a screen.

"Don't believe what you see on T.V."

Almost.

"Don't believe what you don't see in reality."