Face that way and walk out of the building.
             Face that way and walk out of the

                                                                            room. Keep it comic or dramatic – just not

tragic. Separation of drone and you.
             Separation of drone and you

No revisiting past glory, or

tacking things back together

with your ex. A long day’s

journey into more: this is

family core. Smell the soft

                                                 fragrant cake. You visit a friend in hospital, there’s a

woman there, maybe seventeen? ‘She looks yum’, you say, intending young. Her

headphones cost more than your clothes would fetch flogged to the drunk naked rich.

She smiles at you, and says you look like a young Heidegger.
             Touché, you’ll have to google

that later. There’s always something

phony, making life credible or

bearable. Right now, it’s you

Right now, it’s your fake Filipina

Twitter account, based on stale gay

Saudi gossip. The stronger the self

the weaker the planet. Try to only

hurt things within reach. Borrow

                                                              words to say. Bring faces, frappuccinos, fruit to

your own bed. Cultivate a new fate. Nothing else will happen today.


Toby Fitch remixes this poem for The Lifted Brow portion of this issue.