About These Ads
I have this thing about
the count I’ve lost. Bench-
warm the business end
of “I’ll pass.” I stick to blue
chip glitches. Psyche’s pool
house I crash in. It gives
perspective, as in, it blows
my head off. Flits among
kiosked salts. The person
I’m becoming is the one I
bug my phone with. Creature
who folds & remains in ur-
proportion. Gets his head on
straight ad nauseum. My head,
blown off, leaves my shirt
label readable. Loved ones
picture me in fields I’ve had
my fill of. Rust pelt & radio
wire. It feels spot on when
I stray. Reach promontoried
new lows, dig my heels into
a safety net. Friends, family
are ego’s browsing history.
The stay I cut short. Mem-
ories they jog I topple like
milk jugs. Put my mouth
to a sobbing breast. I hit
Record. I’m getting this!
| Curtis Rogers |
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