here’s a poem from my book How the Hand Behaves:
Pouring through the wires like words,
magic I will never understand.
Sleight of hand pulls images out of air
imprisoning them on the screen in the box.
Is the picture tube filled like my brain
with gusts of faces?
When I touch it, the tingle, the crack,
the static rises to meet my hand.
Warmth and light, magnetic fields
imprisoned like genies
pulling my liver
away from my back,
rearranging my cornea,
what wish could set them free?