Missed Call

Oh, it’s just me again,
Running around the potato
Patch, lonely with-
Out you. How’s the
Reception in Timbuktu? Your
Cellular’s not on.
I woke up early and
Wanted to talk, so
I’m talking.
I have such a headful of
Ghosts and dreams, but
Who understands but
You?  When we lie
Warm together, words
Don’t find it so
Hard to get
Out in the air, but
This phone!—It’s the size
Of the mouse, and I roll
It around on the pillow-
Case, wordless,
Wanting the evening, the morning,
To scroll through time.
Never to be right on
Time again, never to seem
To be late or early:
Always an otherwhere,
Everwhen, even
If else is what’s going
Down.  This is because
Of the absence required
For awareness, that wretched
Ache, a battery icon with only
One black slash left. While
I like how we leave re-
Chargers around in rel-
Evant worldly places, it
Makes me wonder
How long it takes
Before even the burn
Wears down.  It’s like
Every moment is close to
The moment when no one
Would want to choose me;
As if I’m on sale
And you’re holding the
Only credit card.  As images
Move toward otherness,
Suddenly ancestral in
Mirrors, the way we
Look at each other becomes
More layered with E. S. P.
There’s a reason for tele-
Kinesis:  progressive
Lenses.  How I
Appreciate how you
Syncopate imagination:
I wanted to say that
I wanted to save that
Red sunset you said you saw.
Are you still keeping those
Love poems recorded on
Voice mail?  How long can they
Stay?  You’re not driving,
Are you? Have you got your
Hands on the wheel?