Premiere Generation Ink.

Frequencies

What tunes, should I play on the
        stereo-- Hi/Fi
Surrounded by my options
Just then she bursts into
        the room,
        expletives out front.

I translate her "Fuck Yous"
        into imagined, ultra-fast,
        Latin-American slurs--
Urging me to flee the village,
        before it has completely burned
        and my body found--
Charred pile of black ash
The "pop-pop" of gunfire is
        severely audible in the
        not-so-distant background.

My mind works slow-- humidly
Like an old, dusty, swamp cooler
        forced into the corner for
        much too long
Useless energy spent trying
        to turn it on
She slams the door behind her.

Ryan Scariano

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