Ben Mirov was born in Northern California . He is the author of Ghost Machine (Caketrain, 2010) and the chapbooks I is to Vorticism (New Michigan Press, 2010) Collected Ghost (H_NGM_N, 2010) and the forthcoming Vortexts (SUPERMACHINE, 2010). He is poetry editor of LIT Magazine and general editor of pax americana. He lives in Brooklyn.
If they were never stoked
to return you phone call
they were never stoked
to begin with. One looks down
and selects from the many pieces of debris
some kind of shard from the hologram
that binds us to one another.
A jump-suit, a thermos,
an implacable passion for oceanography.
These are the tools given
to the wobbly one. The one
who stalks the earth looking
for pie and sex and a brief drive
through the vineyards at the edge of town.
Think of the beauty of the aqueduct.
Now return to your mountain of leaves
and shut the hatch.
Sometimes I think every person
on television worships Satan.
I know that it's not true.
Most people worship
a huge ball of light
passing through the trees
into the yard
onto the front porch.
I have no idea why the ball of light
always lands on the porch.
Just as I have no idea
why TV is full of people
who ignore the huge ball of light.
It's clearly meant for them.
