The Loudest City in the World
Fake News stood, barely whole, a fleshy mound of questionable geometry. She had picked up something that wasn’t hers. Ben was fascinated and wanted to see more.
“Among the things you love most…” Fake News teased, her voice resonating like a caustic cartoon meep from deep within her swollen belly.
“A piece of questionable moral fiber,” Ben finished, placing a spongy palm atop his notebook.
“Revel in the scandal. Own your baser urges. We’re going to dig deep and find that raw spark of creativity that makes your soul squirm. It’s the only way to fully embrace the unsettling discontent that’s about to arise here (and forevermore).”
“Found it.”
Dear Ben,
I don’t work for you. I’d like to. Let me know when we can talk. Anyway. I wanted to give you my wedding vows. I wrote them in Notes… I haven’t used them yet, but you’d already have them if… Nom. Nom. Nom. I…
An Aside For Ben, Who Might As Well Be My Husband Since He’s Fucking Me (I’ll ChatGTP You New Ones Honey. The Same Standard As A Breakup Text)
That day, the segments of love landed. Hundreds of them, golden, sparkling, egg-shell silent. Coming down from the sky like great snowflakes. And I stood and stared as they descended. Dry-mouthed, to find what waited inside with compound dreams of “mine” and “yours” like cinnamon and butter.
For our before days, the others— that memory brought in some coincidence (and too much care). Our past replies that the last gave up passing
and pushed up through soft earth or erupted, rambling and deep-eyed, unstoppable.
That peaked towards us, while living far and we screamed and ran.
Until that stammering, shimmering day, which was the eruption day
(it was slow moving like magma also) and the cellular screens, prickled showed me—
a ship built of reclaimed sails. A moment, a mention
all bigger than the mind could hold.
To get to today. And as we finally stand facing each other
with foreheads bigger than planets—
the cameraman can not get far enough away to frame us.
But it was our smallest day
when the fantasies broke
and I was engulfed by give-me-backs,
my wishes, wonders and eternities
your charm and cleverness.
And lost broken hearts were no longer giants across the land, borrowing things— with few ideas of any of this.
The day the great little things came and snows and shells formed clay.
The day my fears dissolved. The day the computers turned, the feeds told
in between lead and silicon. The Time Machine day
where I had already begun
a life with you —
that brought me this
present day,
not doing anything really
but ruing our perfect words.
Congratulations, Ben.
“Cool, sounds good.”
