I feel there’s a novel
in all this,
and definitely not by me.
By someone so much better.
Vonnegut, maybe.
All about this room,
and the dark,
and the bed,
and the Magic Fingers machine
that probably has not worked
since the setting of Vonnegut’s
best novel, Not by Me. By Someone
So Much Better.
What is the word for the
line that eventually appears
on every forehead?
What is the line
for the word that infects
every tongue?
There is always
a novel in all this.
It takes place entirely in the
hour I wait for you
in this room, staring at
the Magic Fingers machine,
thinking about Vonnegut.
He is by someone
so much better.