Key MacFarlane

Collector’s Frequency

Remember when life had run its course
In some celestial theater we’d watch
This all again—
Last season’s finale paused
Before each
Reminder
And rewound
Until every object found its pair:
Whispers trapped in pools of rum
Wrap sunburns in sewage smells
Sealed off
To be found
Obsessively
I used to go on runs
With hopes of alchemy
I used to record my dreams
I even used to synchronize each song
With
These shattered selves
Collecting in shelves
And terrible poems
Effusing in eddies
And finally hardening on the edges
Of love-stained sheets

Under the comforter of exchange
Invisible lines fan-out and fractalize
The forgotten wavelength
Forced many before us to celebrate
And complete the connections
I only wish to arouse

 

Warm Winter

 
An unusually warm winter
Gooses them to come out
At all the wrong times:
Nests half-built
Above the coming frost,
At dusk, lines of quills will
Sway gently under nuclear skies

And smoke plumes in high definition—
It’s only the cold air
That makes me peer
Into attic windows,
Unlocking red rooms, the golden relations,
Scenes from a promising new
B movie

Her bones ached, he claimed—
A result of global warming
And that the prophet was hung
Over and no longer
Any use to us
With so many new channels to watch
And nothing we could not divine

 
In Our New LEED–Platinum Office Building

 

I can see
Everything—
And everywhere
Glass, sunlight, glass
Whitenoise and whitelight
But these computer screens make my eyes run
And glass
Walls distract the filtered water drinkers
And the fantasy leaguers of Monday Morning
Whose vision is now scattered along
Secret meetings—
Scandalous meetings—
The solubility of vision bars
The other senses
Ignoring, of course, the lack of soundproofing
(We had nothing that was green!)
And the absence of actual progress
Between natural light and glass
Where words pass in
And out, deranging,
Slipping into conversations
Where they don’t belong,
Losing—loosing—their solidity
Their viscous texture
Upon the second(hand) shores of exchange
Picking up speed
Light speed!
Shooting through glass
Flumes, leaving
Only memories
And estimations
(behind)

 

Key MacFarlane: An alumnus of Colgate University, Key is currently working at an environmental consulting firm in Baltimore, Maryland, his hometown. He enjoys writing poetry and music, and hopes to enroll in a Ph.D. program for critical human geography in the Fall.

 

Promote. Poetry.
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