I lost Life. Possibly down the side
between clock and computer.
Occupied scrolling photos,
making love to memories.
As if they made stretched
cirriform clouds.
That made overhead
personalized flurries.
Complete with lightning.
Ripe for paparazzi.
Nimbus clouds, too.
Whirling with baby snuffles
Rhyming to a mobile
Trilling Chopin.
Because babies need education.
In the Art of Angst.
I think Life might have dropped down the toilet.
Last week I lost my toothbrush.
My reflections fault.
I lost count of my pores. How many pixels
before I resemble sand?
I make up a tossed salad
Of halogen lightbulb dust.
A teaspoon of room temperature milk.
My body overheats to the taste
Of blue cheese electronics.
Blend and repeat.
Tie up the ribbons.
Dance with your childhood before
the grave drops life down the roots of a flower.
