Episode

Thirteen-inch Sony Johnny Carson, nineteen-eighties luxury tans and brass

and Burbank sunset saturation, on my parents’ king-sized bed.

My head in crumpled fabric darknesses, in cool sheets on pillow-white shoulders,

underlined in red with a faint cedar smell.

My polyester defiance, now a commercial interruption;

static, electric, blue, and rival of the more to come.

 

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