Suspicious Glitches

Cherries in the bowl are screaming. The bowl is on the table. The words, vulgar words, heinous accusations, are reverberating and bloodying the air. They are not my cherries and I did not do anything wrong but it is impossible to be certain. “Let us try to be civil,” I plead, but their anger only intensifies, their stems twitching, their complaints transforming into worryingly articulate threats.

Illness again, advice from

friends and loved ones who live

in screens and dreams. Empty stomach is food

It is quiet on my

blank little

screen, like an oceanful

During commercial breaks I watch lives

melting outside convenience

stores. They do not see the commercials, will never

This is the excitement you won’t be

having, these are your un-

wanted breakfast crumbs blended into

There is a drawer below the bathroom

sink and to the right, reserved for expired

medications, and ones that never worked in

What do your hands touch?

Is it sand-colored and elastic?

Is it a cloak to hide our similarities

In a capsule, in a pod

in time realizing trash is

an assessment; mist is the

I jog poetry, listen as

my keystrokes disturb the gravel and

caw-birds tweet their

But the promise

of rebirth is a miscarriage

What