Channel Surfing in America
by Dan McNeil
+32
She walks along dusty sidewalk. Breeze from ruinous emblematic towers, girders and corpses meshed. Erect at podium, President speaks mournful script. Mouth moves mechanically; words fall limply to encrusted concrete. Silver airliner in turquoise sky glitters in light of enormous sun, mummified passengers awaiting final embarkation. Beneath President’s feet, worms continue their ancient patterns.
+7
She sits in rocker as funeral cortege carries away husband. His body stinking now – cancer mainly. Children play by river, unaware of mother’s grief. Cortege’s tail car a ‘69 Pontiac Grand Prix; floats over vast insect plain. Driver seen somewhere before. She makes note of license plate, pours another glass of slippery wine. Oblivion descent.
+12
Once he came onto Mica; they all went and opened fire and then something else, you see – tragic accident, supposedly. The cars that started the run became old and stupid, failure to absorb juices from the fibre flow inside mountains. Looking awesome. Fever-ridden father fucks his flag-draped daughter, minor resistance, nothing much. Later – drugs, psychopathy and presidency.
+49
Orbital sequence, passengers trail their walk, awaiting storms. Tremulous breeze. Light falls from sky – passengers illuminated on concrete. Satellite One decay. Silver 747 – dead words to the space sidewalk. Reflected light from motionless aircraft glitters in turquoise sky. President speaks to encrusted feet, glances at fallen towers meshed with body parts. Worms orbit the smothered fractal foundations in mechanistic method.
+01
Brothers and sisters, husbands and wives – nothing much. Towers crumple, monsters released. Diatoms. Keep playing, keep messing around.
-00
Surf the ruins.