move through a familiar
landscape: my avatar travels
to the Hamptons again
by prop plane. This time
you steer. Rare metal sky.
Projected out ahead
of my body as my body
goes about its business
worrying a hole
in the fabric of
my sweater, the real
diverges further
from the program:
I see you turn and say to me
I’m not a nice person.
I turn and say to no one
I cannot control my avatar.
You drive it like you stole it!
This lone quantum occurrence—
couch beside me, going cold.