for the effects
of digitally
remastering himself
his wife
at his touch
sprouted odd
neck hairs
that torqued
toward overhead
space junk
his children clutched
their seats when
he prepared to
speak because they
knew the floor
would shimmy
from his sub
wolfing pumped
up basso
he dreamed of the
microforging of
dangerous plated
conflict minerals
and awoke crying
nitrous tears
he tried to
revert but his
analog self had
been left
in the rain
he played what
was left of
it and it stretched
and spiraled and
tore with one
last crescendoing
static huff
now he is
muted his high
resolution
transparent
