I am always struck by how many products define our lives, even when we are resistant. On one side, toothbrushes. On the other, creams.
& this poem, expressing the fusion of (the despair located within) the domestic and the virtual:
If Eliot were to write your personal apocalypse
No, this is the way the world ends.
We are dying and someone texts us furniture, a kind of wood & tile Bandaid against ashes.
Your in-box has many offers of riches from the Emperor of Bahrain and every time
You go online your brain, fissured by a million splinters, repeats I’m OK and I don’t care
If you’re OK too.
We have no true metaphors for the poetic anymore but that old hunger won’t abate;
So instead we turn it into an industry and in this way receive a dinette set, at least.
At least there is this.
You are dying in a renovated room, well appointed and clean.
The dream has been fulfilled, perhaps you will even be able to afford to maintain
Your post-mortem web page, which flashes image after image of you, a corpse
In your castle of things whimpering I love you, I love you Sandra Dee.
Yes how you wanted to believe in the furniture and the whimpering.
& this poem, expressing the fusion of (the despair located within) the domestic and the virtual:
If Eliot were to write your personal apocalypse
No, this is the way the world ends.
We are dying and someone texts us furniture, a kind of wood & tile Bandaid against ashes.
Your in-box has many offers of riches from the Emperor of Bahrain and every time
You go online your brain, fissured by a million splinters, repeats I’m OK and I don’t care
If you’re OK too.
We have no true metaphors for the poetic anymore but that old hunger won’t abate;
So instead we turn it into an industry and in this way receive a dinette set, at least.
At least there is this.
You are dying in a renovated room, well appointed and clean.
The dream has been fulfilled, perhaps you will even be able to afford to maintain
Your post-mortem web page, which flashes image after image of you, a corpse
In your castle of things whimpering I love you, I love you Sandra Dee.
Yes how you wanted to believe in the furniture and the whimpering.