APOCALYPTIC ALLEY CAT CHRIST

one hemisphere of the Big Bang came off

taking on the excretory arc of a bullet wound

and dogshit yellow pollen exploded in the nose

communities later forming via conduction of silicone

into another dimension, that of the dark side of a burning

building, where the apocalyptic alley cat christ

blinks its green eyes with drapes of sauna fuzz

there aren't really people in this community:

loops of fly paper jostling for position simulate I'm

not sure what body language or why

but most mornings there is usually a loud clunk

when my hologram is checking itself this way and activating

and in trying to say good morning it instead releases

smog from a Ziploc bag as a likeness of its voice,

slick and distant, more like an infomercial voice-over

explaining how narcissism holds our failures not

in the way dissection makes a piglet look alive,

and the neglect of grooming self or self's hologram

engenders a hard exterior cast

2 trillion zillion years later my hologram is still alive and trying to

make sense of this magazine in its lap and its airs of concentration

are gruesome, somehow, one hand holding something moving

towards it (i.e. moving towards the magazine's spine) and it's

as if the awareness of this movement and awareness of the hand's

contents – a generic office stapler – come from the hand itself and from

the stapler itself, a likeness of a voice saying in my hologram's head:

this stapler really needs to think or pause decorously a bit before feeding

as in where's this thing's manners

many gazillion years later, my hologram's corpse leaves a lot of waste

graveside and vultures of the future are useful in imparting to this waste

a lighter, albeit slightly drab tone, which reconfiguration and change of

general gestalt graveside of the waste is not as cute as e.g. my

hologram's unexpected volte face some trillion years previously

coming up from the basement with the proverbial hat in hand

begging my wife (my actual wife, not my wife's hologram) for a

headache pill as banging on pots and pans and other basement 
unwantables down there every night in an attempt to simulate the 
haunting of a poltergeist has inflicted on the hologram, i.e. on the 
hologram itself, what amounts to a pretty bad headache