My beloved, she tires of me, and she should—
I'm the song she can't avoid from hearing on
the radio every day. I'm the ubiquitous media
saturating social networks, look at the memes
that rain from the ether, the reign of a medium
beyond the voice. She tires of the many ways
I move my body, I shape a sound with my mouth
and make her wiggle. The jokes I tell are all
the same as those before, innocuous sutras
and palpable psalms, erroneous prayers and mantras
littering the cathedrals. My beloved tires
of words and phrases, images and metaphors
that try to define her. Only the breathless sky
can capture the infinite being she presents.
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