Is this thing on?

Is this thing on?

Anybody out there?
Anybody want to listen
to the things I say
when I’m uneven steven
looking for a love
I can’t even desire?

Anybody looking for me
out there in the busy minds
and pestered hearts
waiting in line to buy
their fair share
or hustling the wharves
to follow the slosh
of long distance waves
on corrugated iron rust?


OK, OK, that’s cool.
Whatever, you know?
Because, like, in the end,
what I’m asking for
you cannot give me,
you seven billion strong
buzzing in the myriad ways
hands and feet can throng
hoot holler jivedive play.

Read me on your cell phone
as you blow your nose.
Read me on your tablet
in your dress-up clothes.
Read me on a screen
in a book
on a podcast
with the night air
circling round
like a pack
of yellow eyed
flashing its wet
white teeth,
howling its long
lost promise.

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