(No Subject)
Joseph Bales

Moving across the void whiteness.
Right angles and streamlined edges.
Navigation in empty abyss of disorder.

Inbox.
Where messages materialize. Checkboxes.
One hundred little checkboxes waiting to be filled with
one hundred perfect little dashes.
Dr. Sullivan wants to know how your visit went.
Read, unread, marked for deletion.
Click here for a special deal!
Appointments with colleagues.
Facebook notification, Theodore liked your status.
Flags, the procrastinator’s signature.
“I’ll check out that later.”

Drafts.
Four unfinished documents butted against one another.
Beginnings to conversations never started.
The starts to thoughts never begun,
cut off by time or impatience,
held against their will in cell block (4).
Forgotten, never released into the ether of cyberspace.
Deleted and gone,
but nothing erased.
Permanence and temporality,
opposing faces of the same two headed beast.

Saved mail.
Piles of files from ex-lovers.
Passion in Helvetica.
Cherished or forgotten gems.
Bright letters intermingled with emojis,
gifs of hearts and puppy dogs.
Old jokes.
Re re re re re fwd fwd fwd re re re
Funniest thing you’ll read all day.
It were 2002 and you were upset that
Bob Barker left daytime television.

No existence outside binary on a page
all culminates into a final
climactic click on a screen.