The edge doesn’t exist; it bleeds
In torrents as we hover like
Meat in the sandwich subjected
To physics and whims, dolor and
Perfidy, yet our claws, despite
Our gnawing still click clack where the
World stops like bullets popping
And reach back with the slightest hope.
Inscrutability is a
Craft, not just a passion I say
Feeding the card reader at the
Parking garage, waiting for the
Gate to lift, a Midway con in
Reverse, like taking best of five
In tic tac toe against yourself.
Do you have any cash on you?
The video buffers
What are you waiting for?
On your phone for chrissakes!
Everyone is tech savvy these
Days, like the man under the Route
13 overpass shopping for
A used cardboard box on his phone.
The best deals are online; they
Just drone that shit into you
Like you were Taliban with good
Credit, or no credit at all.
We amble in deserts
Others jet over
The country arid with lust
I know less today
Than I did yesterday
But that’s ok
Because when I wake up in your arms
Who needs the vantage point of space?