Originality is dead—or unadmired. The movies
my sister clicks, the bops, the tweets with
No one:
Absolutely no one:
all reference. Her fingers scroll, her eyes never drift,
our future whalesongs the children of weird flex.
My plot to be novel in a world that doesn’t know
how ants make decisions or FRBs work
began with my sister in a spark of retaliation
the last time we couched. Watching the same ad,
thoughts turned coal glow, synapsed in ledes,
her smile became a quote, stodging the silence,
It’s a bold strategy, Cotton
Let’s see if it pays off
one of us satisfied; the other wondering who
could combine a moment, words, and signaling
never combined before with me. Where is the
person I’m meant to grow with, welcoming a stop
in LED info to broadcast our FRB. Who can locate
my moth on the wall, compulsive and death-doored,
say
it me
David Rodriguez is a writer and teacher based in New Orleans with an MFA from Florida State University. He has previously been published in the New Orleans Review, The Southeast Review, The Sandy River Review, Hawai’i Review, and Jarfly, among other places.