The dinner won:        It’s not Wednesday

it’s DiGiorno     killing present-tense


in Spahn Ranch where


I analyze my life in a person who has appeared,

with me, in the same place


as god—low voice for tiny body


Kate Bush running


on that treadmill, away from the big couch

& hands, shaking no more


the late nite host’s behind us


our mannequins no longer loaded onto dollies


so the cameras can’t capture these flat feet

slipping on bananas


duct taped to the stage


& buckling legs         ew eww ewww


another person devoured in public


by the public—


you never person in public


so we’ve learned from the canceled

so we’ve learned from the decedents


it really is safer to stay inside

lavishly lush in our parenthetical gems


we have access to all the same media

& vintage data that isn’t so vintage




it can’t be when it lives on my screen