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
anymore
it can’t be when it lives on my screen