"... there's some kind of gray area between
being pressurized and being completely forgotten
like to explore." -- Douglas Adams
No small cursor this.
The theory contains a color: black.
Like thumbnail, when a heavy object
-- perhaps a bird cage,
perhaps an old Ford fender --
Hard. A dead weight
called computer technician.
You count the buttons
you shouldn't have pushed.
You spill mixed nuts all over the ledger.
You undress halfway
to unplug Schrodinger's box.
This is the pressure.
This is the funnies.
As if the Russian blue would come
in various soup can labels. As if random-
access-memory could re-make you
attend every birthday party.
As if you wouldn't know death when it blips.
If there'll be last
lines, they will be gray.
words: Arlene Ang, Italy
(& other ways to talk to myself)
photo: Francis Raven, Pennsylvania