and so my DVD collection
passing out of days
should surprise
naught ᐧ naught atoms. Yet
here I am velcroed
in space
dust to it through a solvent
rag, readying
our escapade for its escape
vector. I make five
piles: silent, special, yes, maybe,
no, definitely not.
I keep silents under all
conditions
ᐧ
Their less restrained companions
in the specials promise "I'll
keep shading them from dim UV,"
knowing they don't
have any will from me to leave.
All the yesses will fall
indifferently near, nextdooring
a shelf not rinsed enough for
us to refabricate any tearflow.
They must have sensed the
end of their usefulness since
the early dates of the century
ᐧ
[This poem should be imagined on its side.]
