Monday, June 21, 2010

How We All Play, And Suddenly Emerge From, The Video Game Saying Something Life-Changing

Aquaman finally learned how to wet the surface,
handled the leak with a hustle and a sweaty rap,
honest fat and navel closure – if life was going
to be this mean at least let us choose where
the shrapnel should stick and spill,

at least let the garage remote control
shuffle the tarot reading to DONKEY
or KICK ME over the incubus’s snoring back, 
puff pieces defining the bordello
like a message written in push pins

behind the red, hungover dawn eyelid,
antennae scattered over the carpet: 
they might as well have been us
playing Tecmo Bowl like
tomorrow would suck us in,
they might as well have been
the monster reworked.

Frankenstein’s first impression of himself as
he watched an implemented electronic
advertising display and the cornucopia of
automata click-clacketing in: ‘I’m going to view
the altered hormone – instead of I: Altered Self – as 

the rehab of tomorrow.’ That’s right, Frankenstein –
I don’t get everything platter-presented like you do
lying back comfortably and getting a
creation wank-over like the E-cookbook
that now can talk the eel out of the bowl

so me, I can’t CHOOSE to sound indignant oh
wait – to say ‘I don’t get everything platter-presented’ sounds
pretty indignant erm, so … Wait, you over there with the
microwave oven’s brain: yes you, I KNOW you often
yearn back for the day the sorrows in your mouth

weren’t self-replicating from the starting line
of cells where your creator scraped his foot
and yelled: SPEAK!

like a gen

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