|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
|The Emotional Territory of Screens
Message me real. This password-happy life.
I, eyepiece. I, fisheye lens.
We’ll design a level for Him: He whose solo injuries and single-player sword
we unearthed in Galilee.
I came until I died, I worked, I said. A supply
of rapid-fire breath on-hand will round out any arsenal.
O ancient, O real possibility!
I will do my killing from trees.
Will we match or marry? No, the cable modem said:
we slew that possibility together.
About Andrew McIntosh