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Microcosms (Vol. 1)

The State of Satire

By Keenan ChiassonPublished 5 years ago 2 min read
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Photo by Matthew LeJune

"There was a great conversation we had."

"Yeah. So. What about it?"

"I gotta get it"

He hops the barbed fence into a nasty lair

Electric eyes stare

Self is black on stealth-black backdrop

He sidles toward a humming plasma-filled obelisk,

and reaches,

for a CD-ROM.

He twists, pressing and *click* with a lock.

The plasma formulates into a home's interior,

viewed as if it were filmed by a fly on the wall:

two men talking across an island.

~

"-it was pointless, so I tried to prove one where there wasn't one."

"So what's your point."

"There wasn't one."

~

He presses the CD-ROM in *click*a*click* and out it pops.

He stuffs it into his silk-laden satchel and reaches for another,

twist, press, and *click*

This time the plasma shifts to show the innards of trucker's cab,

the noise interrupted with the vibration of heavy machinery

gliding smoothly over an un-fucked road...

~

"-I don't like havin' other folks make my coffee, they do it wrong-"

~

*click*a*click*

Out the ROM pops,

but flick

goes the wrist

and puts it

in

with a *tip*

So as not to continue or replay it,

but to leave it in its home.

THE FLASH OF A LIGHT

freezes our friend still,

hiding shakily behind this omniscient tower,

against the cold glassy surface of its stygian makeup.

*step* ... *step* ... *step* ...

the steps of an unseen guardian of this strange place fade away,

as our friend makes his way to another slit on this eternal monument.

-This is the one-

he whispers in his mind.

Twist, press, *click*

The plasma shows him to himself

a past he remembers clear as fog

he and his wife,

seated on a daise.

~

"Cheers!"

She lifts her drink.

He makes a gesture to grab it,

but stops,

holding his hand underneath in untouched frozen suspension.

With the incomplete stuck in the half-way,

she mutters once more; identical.

"Cheers!"

They tap cans like bulls fighting head-on,

rushing against unlocked aluminum horns.

~

*click*a*click*

Stuffing the CD-ROM into his satchel he runs toward his exit,

but is caught!

by the glancing pass of a radial eye.

He turns to see that ancient unknown guardian slugging his weight toward him,

Reaching for the first CD in the satchel,

he tosses it toward the guardian with unfrozen fervor,

and makes his way

to the gate

finding it never locked

and never further

than

a stone's throw

away.

~To be continued~

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Keenan Chiasson

"I want to burn with the spirit of the times. I want all servants of the stage to recogni[z]e their lofty destiny."

-Vsevolod Meyerhold

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