Word count: 176
Paragraphs: 11
static (blue)
death understood only
as death’s photograph
ha ho he
there is algorhythms
+ subduxction for
them
numerouses
reading aloud
on the inside
that truant
performance
so says E:
lemme
give
you
a
gift
rapt
peanut
Children
of the
New Drawn
(who didn’t do
something
screen time wrong)
keeps touching
its face
why wouldn’t I
silverlight
stay
cults in full-screen
never quite mode? loose
need words
the budgets
they’re need that
prescribed blue shadow
coming down
my nose
(don’t touch)
he’s got Joe Biden eyes
connection lost
Anselm Berrigan was the poetry editor for the Brooklyn Rail. He lives and grew up in the somewhat lower part of Manhattan.