Clayton Couch

Hologrammatic Love

tight lipped, a place in ozone, circus shot
miffed, coded with a secret societal inside
joke, I fling you overboard, intent drowning

hesitate before the altar, that quiet earth
bound place where a single most important
personality descends every night, just before

tea green as sick as virality can please her,
I sneak fingers centipeding with the best
of them and cameras roll, lusting for tape

muffled the truth oozes messy from oven
cleaning processes; mop and bucket leak
saccharine all over those waxed floors, late

plead for the icemaker to crack and tumble
in hollows, and plastic hand-holding hope
as I answer an unknown caller, poor at home