Searchlight Propaganda

I looked for you my love, in black magic, reversed Hanged Joker Magician mocking up Empress Priestesses with coy smiles, in cups, the spaces between the tea leaves as if the only reason I haven’t seen your face as that you’re hitherto microscopic, as if I’d know your face if I saw you in this crowd here, a knowing smirk exposing teeth because the bones and runes, the letters in this week’s parsha had divulged my name, the place and time that you would fall in love with me.

I looked for you within myself, making searchlights cascade across this casanova long form, fancy dress regaling galantry across oceans of interface: from AllSingles to Zoosk, typing my tenacity instead of manning the testicular fortitude to call for you across cities and deserts, through libraries, searching for you in the Dewey Decimals, like you’d been filed away waiting.

I looked for you in inkdrops on hardcovers in used bookstores, secrets singing from the cries of babes in Barnes & Noble on novel Thursdays off, I opened every book of poetry searching for the sequence that would spell out your name – finding instead forlornly wishes for new-boyfriend bollocks delivered by dogs for treats. I searched for you, but am looking for you still.


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