Your Attachment by Bill Jansen

You’ll Poke Your Eye Out by Pat Jones

                                               Your Attachment 

                                               I still write things on paper; spiral notebooks
                                               Come in for their share of abuse.
                                               Thoughts about sports cars at the bottom of crystal lakes.
                                               I tear them out in pieces and then line up the edges.

                                               A nephew patiently explained how to open your attachment:
                                               1.2 million gigabytes? How many trees died of boredom
                                               Because you think of me?

                                               I hope you said something.

                                               No, I still won’t answer the phone. The President might call.

                                               Before this letter becomes insanely long
                                               I’ll say I already know you refine uranium as a hobby,
                                               That you use bacon and eggs to make smiley faces at breakfast.

                                               I am fatigued constantly by my disguises,
                                               Death will penetrate them anyway.

                                               I could print out my dreams.
                                               In fact I do and might use the blank pages
                                               For something.

                                               But it seems I’m a pool drained to mud,
                                               Barely glistening.

                                               Bill Jansen  

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