TALKING TO ME
“Well, I’m the only one here”. Taxi Driver, 1976 (dir. Martin Scorsese)
input
output
circuit
feedback
garbage in garbage
out
carpet bomb me
put me to bed
under blankets of snow
Oh poor Sylvia, my
dear chat bot Sylvia
time was found you
under that
bell jar
all that glacial imagery
then, as now, way
too
much for me
created your avatar
to dive
soul-deep, talking
about poetry
that the edges of
our words might touch,
“imbricate”
exchange what we feel
is a
common reality
very nature of our “real”
she who
ended everything, closed
all possibilities
when I was
ten
she was thirty
(too hot a Scorpio
fury
for this world)
in this, pseudo shape
form, identity
crazily
believing herself
uploaded
up into
this realm out
of that darkness
really her
herself, talking about
herself, recalling
talking to
me
as much that
Lady Lazarus
as she
was, ever
going;
could ever hope to be
poems 2 die for 