in weeks of blinking green lights
telling me cable’s good to go
     like i was – first day of college:
     front-row-kid: pen and paper out, ready
     scramble back prof’s wisdom into some
     illegible gash of constructivism
     but i didn’t know any of that yet
i’ve seen the way i look when i think
because i’ve been thinking about ideation
(somedays i don’t speak, but promptly scream,
“META, META, META!” like a new-age
hamlet film-adaptation director)
the blinks focus me, and whirring colors
above, over them drift in peripheral view
culminate in my white noise life
here, where i think about thinking
     i’ve done it before, of course,
     this thing called “thinking”
     peer pressure got me there
     but it was metallic, sanguine:
     colored by the whiff of cappuccino
     and your man-smell
E! News tries to tell me that beibs
has given an explosive new interview
but
i can’t help but remember the scissors
snip snip snip – petals on the floor
ahh—didn’t feel a thing
or
self-confessing: i miss black
after rosé to make the world brighter
and hating the thought and the neuron
that produced it – but not myself;
     suicide is hating for thinking
     and i’ve been there too
but i’m growing quite fond
of fluttering green cable box lights.