like ghosts exiting hell

The mirror showed what I expected
a reflection where my hair looked glued to my head
I wanted more then this
I don’t think I’ll ever get that book published
or grow that beard

She told me a thousand secrets but
I didn’t keep them in
I’m not a bank vault or hard drive I scratched
scratched
scratched them on a wall. Itss never like we think it is,
is it?

Its never the way we see it on TV.
I have never failed a lie detector test
I’ve never bought curtains

She sends me Christmas cards in October. Ice sculptures are melting.

I want my computer to have guts amongst its wires
I want to hear its voice talk to me
like the man on the radio who’s always there

amongst the weather reports.
Her face is etched in the concrete
its beneath our feet its always there
like the voice on the radio.

I want my computer to have organs that I can harvest
and sell to the highest bidder in back alleys amongst shadows
where they emerge
through the smoke like ghosts exiting hell.
.

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