When we last saw Him, He was headed into space,

the alternate reality suspended above

our heads where life seethed amid the stars

with the vitality of the gods

we built spaceships to explore

Heaven, and our explorers reported

back, like the spies of Canaan:

darkness, dwarf giants, and a few grapes

the heavens were disappointing. Empty, we labeled

the vacuum space, and our foolish hearts

were darkened. Heaven became a nebula

a dark glass of reality, our vision

obscured by equations, theoretically

physics: 170 decibels, our eardrums burst

when the trumpet went off, we forgot

about graphs and boxed sets: our vision

was forced to adjust to the stars

light made us weep.

Power: Point

information works best in a line

of text, neutral colors, graphics racing

across the screen, tinkling like the glass

you threw on the tile last night

but how can I focus on our growth

when your laser pointer

is only slightly less piercing

than the sound you made

curled up on the floor

when your face was veiled

by your hands and my awkwardness

because I didn’t know

what I was doing, did, dang,

should have done for you

Program: P. I. N. K.

No one seemed afraid

of the clones in those days.

Holden dated each of them,

one plus one plus one plus one.

They all had identical break-up stories: in a bar

codes, so they knew how to comfort charmingly

each time another one came

unglued, they held each other, darling

Holden’s a jerk, but

he loved them madly

as a scientist: each lip set

a matching precious pouted pink,

There wasn’t much difference

in even the gifts: Four plastic roses, a new program

that sometimes, at night, Jessica and Ashley

and Kaytlin and Katelyn would forget

which was which was which was witch

Because Ashley thought Kaytlin

thoughts, and Jessica thought Katelyn

thoughts: 11011101100110011001

Holden painted pouted pink

Which was odd, considering the novelty of the idea.