Darting in
from three different infinities
unavoidable intersections merge to a point,
fluorescent light and cobwebs
collected in a corner,
one of many.

I see all my posters
depicting how life is
in places I've never been.
I know of them only through
photos or drawings,
perhaps word of mouth,
or a less efficient method
of sharing information.

There's junk on the floor.

In one place or other
are all kinds of powders --
lemonade, iced tea, and baby,
(the latter good only for
concocting a kind of
makeshift paste),
a homage to instantness.
A deodorant can makes false promises
or a sarcastic remark,
and all the books are closed.

My lists full of scribbles,
the records in order,
the fridge full of juices
we stole from the cookout,
the window preset at a comfortable margin;
I think I've completed the menial missions
that plague each and every life.

As I lie here
pondering these vacant white lined sheets,
the digital red patterns
glow tantalizingly out of reach.

And if, of course,
I could,
I would get up.