handycam
i typed out your face.
for fear of flashbulbs,
i paint us into existence
in lines of text we trace
lives we'd like to live.
people we'd like to be.
but our world's just plastic,
drastic polychrome reflections
on a flat-screen t.v.
you, me, nothing but static,
the black and white flickers
washed up on an ice-blue pane.