Something moved, down on the floor,
as I sat staring at the t.v.
Marisella came in from the kitchen, holding something,
a glass.
The t.v. went limp
trying to broadcast something
too late for working people
to be watching.
Marisella sat on the sofa.

Three days later and I haven’t moved,
staring at the place where the t.v.
used to be.
Marisella’s glass is still here too, somewhere
but Marisella is somewhere else too,
like the t.v.
I lift my left hand up above my head,
like the arthritis commercial,
and I let it drop.

I construct a poem:

The truth the truth the horrible truth
the horrible horrible truth, the truth
the truth the truth the beautiful truth
the beautiful beautiful truth, the truth.

I am so excited that I get an enormous hard-on
that rips right through my bathrobe and slaps me in my left eye.
My dick obscures my view, and I can’t see the place
where the t.v. used to be
in stereo vision.
Marisella comes home and starts crying.
I recite my poem for her over and over.