For George Szirtes and Mauricio Montiel Figueiras
You are lost in my timeline. Tweets stretch in all directions. They are all made of glass and sand and they all look the same.
You are lost in my timeline. Tweets make atonal music. Trees look like your face, magnified, scarred. A pond in a clearing drowns the light.
You are lost in my timeline. The mannequins dismantle your cerebral cortex. As night falls, your reptilian brain clicks and whirrs.
You are lost in my timeline. The curfew begins soon and you’re starting to panic. Black water collects in your eyes.
You are lost in my timeline. You’ve inhaled the spores. Canker poems bloom in your blood. A decapitated statue sinks behind you.
You are lost in my timeline. Your skin is hot silk. The underworld fills with saints. Oranges and lemons. The interview trails off.
You are lost in my timeline. The walls vibrate with voices. Shouting, singing, sighing. Sarcasm and orgasms. Please mind the gap.
You are lost in my timeline. The current takes you one way, then another. Sudden faces flounder. The obscene sea licks you.
You are lost in my timeline. All the world’s a stage. The curtains are lips. You part them and your senses depart. Nothing nothing nothing.
You are lost in my timeline. The desire for intimacy has wrecked your plans. The market stalls sell only fakes and the butcher is blubber.
You are lost in my timeline. Guerrilla kisses hunker down in offices. The sirens’ song can’t be translated into any language.
You are lost in my timeline. The meat you ate has turned to clay in your stomach. Your intestines are God’s hands.
You are lost in my timeline. Please show your ticket at the entrance to the Museum of Sex Toys. Ignore the crying accountants.
You are lost in my timeline. You’re no Theseus. To go forward, turn to tweet 24,731. To go back, turn to tweet 29,303.
You are lost in my timeline. The signposts are all gibberish and the policemen communicate only in GIFs. The clock is not ticking.
You are lost in my timeline. Dead ends are made of ham, sweat, plastic and teeth. Junctions are mirages. Abandon all rope.
You are lost in my timeline. A layer of tracing paper covers everything. You try to draw along the outer edges, but your pencil breaks.
You are lost in my timeline. Selfies laugh at you. Accounts you follow point at you and smirk. You realise you’re naked.
You are lost in my timeline. You’ve fallen through the mirror. Your funny twin is setting fire to the curtains. A yawn, a turning page.
You are lost in my timeline. Your face melts slowly. Words stop referring to things; they accumulate in your pockets, like stones.
You are lost in my timeline. Words weigh you down. You drag your carcass across waste grounds. The clowns lie in wait.
You are lost in my timeline. Ones are zeros and zeros are ones. Every fact has an equal and opposite fiction. The news is old.
You are lost in my timeline. Every door you open brings you back to where you were, which could be anywhere or nowhere.
You are lost in my timeline. The skulls pile up. Furious labour attends every victory. The flags are red and black.
You are lost in my timeline. The options diminish rapidly. You’re parched, exhausted. Two buttons remain: TALK and FUCK.
You are lost in my timeline. You came here to find fiction, little poems, grimly amusing vignettes. Instead: smashed glass, maggots, smoke.
You are lost in my timeline. Pictures flicker. The headlights don’t work. Ken and Barbie are horny as hell. We accept Apple Pay.
You are lost in my timeline. You could try on a suit or a dress. You look ridiculous. The mirror mocks you. The mirrors mock you.
You are lost in my timeline. Life is elsewhere. This is a figment, a misrepresentation. But it’s cosy and the food contains zero calories.
You are lost in my timeline. You think you saw someone who looked just like you, but better and nastier.
You are lost in my timeline. Round and round. Or on and on. Or staying still. You’ve barely started.
You are lost in my timeline. Tweets stretch in all directions. They are all made of glass and sand and they all look the same.
