I could have been writing a poem or a play,
but instead these eyes were glued to a computer screen,
One episode, and then another, sideways, laying down,
blurry-eyed, in French with subtitles.
Could it get better?
Will there be a twist?
You deserve to do nothing Iʻve been told,
though crumbles of Guilt stretch legs on the wall,
roll from one numb arm to the next,
readjusts neck pillows.
I begin to think I speak French,
or at least read with a French accent.
dead hours hope the plot will thicken,
and find instead that it has drizzled into some altered state
of some other personʻs dream that never really mattered
At all. 2 seasons and 16 episodes later… What happened?