Tomorrow bends into

the marine layer with

alluvial decisions

spread across an imitation

Mesopotamia. Chops mountains to

hillocks, drain lakes to beds. Retires.
Chase scenes mock

an earlier, louder you in San Francisco.

then, at home years later, the sound

curved near quiet, separated

by the thrilling adventure

of internal decline. Tomorrow is a fable
with darting eyes, a remote control

changing hands, recording

stories that ship off to an absurd

kingdom posed as democracy.

Its salted oceans are granular. They

wear Petrochemical coveralls.
Back here, the channel changer,

the logline and the endless cycle

of entertainment brood over

powerhouse happy hours,

images debilitating as they

shift. They pixelate, then rise again.