Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-one
Spring 2013
The Emotional Territory of Screens
Andrew McIntosh

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

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