Living on the Sounds of Static

by Baruch November

We wear metal-plated pajamas

for business, for pleasure.

This is the future, we sleep

standing up,

but wake up to sit down,

while enjoying sounds

of static with cohorts.

We later orate in small tin

echoing voices.

We cast votes for towering

electromagnets.

We do not love anyone but ourselves

and even that

is not recommended.

We cannot pick tulips because we cannot

fall in love,

and there are no more tulips.

This is the future— no one dares

grow a beard, unless

it is a fiber-optic beard.

No one dares kill ants or bacteria

without specific license.

No one fears any version of darkness

for our bodies

manufacture light.