2 A.M. Reply

My screen's a mirror full of ghosts

Every ping a little post

You left me readin' " okay, cool"

Thumb stalled out above the pool

Of blue light, cheap wine, and a Tuesday funk

My body's here – my head already sunk

Three dots dance… then they die

I type " I miss you" – delete – reply: " Aha same"

(click, breathe, shame)

Where's the funk in a frozen screen?

Where's the truth in a clean machine?

I need a cracklin' wire, a real live wire

Not this silence dressed as a one-bar choir

* (Horns: Dah-dah-dah!) – I said where's the soul? * (Horns: Dah-dah-dah!) – A slow, cracked bowl * (Horns: Dah-dah-dah!) – That leaks my tears into the dial tone

Lord, leave me a message… after the groan

You sent a voice note – seven seconds of rain

I listened twelve times – each drop a new pain

Your breath at the end like you almost spoke

Then a car passed by and the window closed

Now I'm thumbin' a heart, but my thumb's a liar

This ain't love – this is low-battery fire

(spoken, intimate, almost a whisper) “ Remember when we argued on the street at 2 AM?

Rain in our collars, no recording then.

I slammed the door. You laughed. We kissed.

Now all I get is a read receipt.”

(pause – single rimshot)

Goddamn the delivered.

Where's the funk in a frozen screen?

Where's the truth in a clean machine?

I need a cracklin' wire, a real live wire

Not this silence dressed as a one-bar choir

(ad-lib screams and laugh)

Aha! … same, same, same…

(spoken, tired) “ Left on read again.”