my lovely gloveling satellite
as you might have noticed by now, when you look into the sky between the hours of four and six pm there is usually a tiny, tiny glove-shaped object hovering above, directly above your head i should say, thousands and then some odd miles above your head, appearing to flex its fingers in the air in a beckoning motion to you and your kind (mostly you) down below.
you see i missed you, so i sent a satellite of my latest design to deliver shitty analog broadcasts of you for a two-hour window each day via flywire and a few other early, stupid hairline technologies that the rest of the world doesn't much trust anymore.
i don't think you remember me, and i dare not ask for fear of presumption and the awkwardness that comes along with such things, and while it's cowardly i quite prefer sticking to my grainy images of you anyway.
so as you look skyward next time, and as i continue sitting here inside my soliloquizing closet, i really hope for just one thing now, which is
that you will someday perceive my glove satellite in a moment of such particular and sparkling clarity
as to even say aloud
'
o!
why,
if it isn't a satellite glove-
it must be a sign
that i am loved, watched, and
understood
by somebody, somewhere
'
at which time i would shut off the broadcast, the one way signals, forever, having achieved my aim, and head to the nearest fast food restaurant for a burger some fries and some piece of mind
with my lovely gloveling satellite
still beckoning up in the clouds to you and your own
you see i missed you, so i sent a satellite of my latest design to deliver shitty analog broadcasts of you for a two-hour window each day via flywire and a few other early, stupid hairline technologies that the rest of the world doesn't much trust anymore.
i don't think you remember me, and i dare not ask for fear of presumption and the awkwardness that comes along with such things, and while it's cowardly i quite prefer sticking to my grainy images of you anyway.
so as you look skyward next time, and as i continue sitting here inside my soliloquizing closet, i really hope for just one thing now, which is
that you will someday perceive my glove satellite in a moment of such particular and sparkling clarity
as to even say aloud
'
o!
why,
if it isn't a satellite glove-
it must be a sign
that i am loved, watched, and
understood
by somebody, somewhere
'
at which time i would shut off the broadcast, the one way signals, forever, having achieved my aim, and head to the nearest fast food restaurant for a burger some fries and some piece of mind
with my lovely gloveling satellite
still beckoning up in the clouds to you and your own