I

She doesn't walk right. There is something
about her pigeoned toes that bleeds
into the night. And here we are knowing what's right,
being right we enforce right, in not being right. Maybe
she didn't have guidance on how to walk right. Maybe
someone let her down.

II

I live in a movie. What I want to be is in the screen
and in me, in me and the screen, what I wish to
be, though I'm bored by the movie of I, I still
aspire to exist as both true life and media creation. The succession
of images in my mind, my own reality show, the sum of my
channel surfing, my own dystopian prestige sitcom. Standing
at the end of history and the end of time, ending, in the apocalypse
I watch on T.V.
It's not real, so nothing I do matters. There is something
about how the voyeurism of violence bleeds into the
morning's sad awakening.