All of the sudden

by Edie Roberts

the wreck is alive.
Another year limps its way
onto the stage and we’d like to think
of the internet as millions of little spotlights
but its daytime everywhere all of time forever.
The blur is perfectly feathered.
I’m a sad tomato
crushing a can in the flat splash
of a disco ball. It takes a while
to realize you’re a paper castle
in a floodplain.
The midwest beckons your dissolve.
There is nothing I’d rather do. Another year
props itself up for a photograph,
the responsible glitter licks and whips our faces.
We are inside
and paying for it,
crashing into one another
like falling forward through punching bags.
Big sacks of hideous warmth. I’m kissed
and asked afterward if it was okay. It is because
it doesn’t matter like its meant to. Disco ball
meat lips mash and mash.
Crush a can. Don’t look up. Don’t look
at one another in the eyes unless to gawk at the gore
of another year coming in with hot meat to mash and pin us
without asking first. It doesn’t matter like its meant to. The lights
never
go
out.

Edie Roberts is a rabbit with a hat. A genderqueer mouthpiece ponied up to bat, cheeks fat with American anxiety and morale relay. They reside in Detroit, Michigan but would be happy to visit you. Find them under mark's thumb @squabtastic or where the sky is blue @edieroberts.bsky. social — https://edieroberts.wordpress.com/