i star in a grand moment & everyone claps
& says “i would like another.” splitting a bag of chips with god.
wiping our hands on our thighs. it is a marathon.
out behind the house i tend my empty screens like graves.
see my warped reflection there; the onyx dream of a prophet.
instead of payment for my body, i accept donations of fear.
what will they see me as if i? an angel asks another,
“did you see the performance?” driving to your recording,
i used to pass through a town & think, “if only i was from here
then i would know what it feels like to be captured.”
put me on the screen & make me iridescent. the mountain sits.
static on my tongue. we walk between the emptied.