day of Zooms—this morning my masked friend in Dubai texts me
I join while the timer is already running, her sister paces the backimage
going up and down the stairs—then a meeting at noon, where I am forced
to confirm the name of an ex’s new partner, so that they can be let in
(I am the only one that knows)—we sit in this tight knot (glowing with ringlights
the university paid for) her curled hair recently dyed, bearing a lustre both very near
and far-seeming—this follows another encounter, in which someone more recent
decides that there are to be no more texts or emails between us—gently confirmed
in the kitchen, where I wait between meetings—I have to leave the house, am caught
in another meeting, informal, the faces on camera today seem faded to a Daguerrotype’s 
field—we are all swimming in this gloom, I say that if I took off my headphones my brain
would leak out, but perhaps a better word is vaporize—briefly I watch the roommate 
of someone more recent still disappear into a cloud of viscera—the opening scene, these are
The Boys and what happens to them, their lovers are turned into rain—I watch 
no further, leave the house—return and find my heart beating, too quickly—but I still
have one more—Google “panic attack” or “anxiety,” write a note to myself: “determine
what has me activated”— this room full of objects I am tired of seeing, sprawled
and reversed, out of camera and in, the shoebox, the pothos, the bed that I made quickly
the papers, the battery charging for the cordless drill, Benjamin’s Arcades, the green light
with its new harsh bulb that on camera makes me wonder if I’m sick
(perhaps in the room the virus is another object 
I could comment upon)—what else? pad of paper by my side during 
this final meeting, mechanical pencil with its failing lead, which I use to write
in small letters, “poetry is both experience and escape”—think of God stopping time
to let the poet lined up before the firing squad finish his epic, discreetly
poetry is a skip or a delay—it is a way of fixing or freezing
it is an obsession with light—but what is that? is there a word like vaporize 
for the attention light has been given by poetry?
a man has recently written about his desire to be eradicated by plasma
or lasers, to have his ribcage superheated to the temperature used to achieve fusion
what kind of light is that? what kind of secret?

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