I baptize my calligraphy pen in India Ink.
The old TV screen
explodes like flash bulbs
in a burnt-out room.
An astronaut severed
from ancient space walk
somersaults through galactic dust,
past dying suns and methane moons—
a fossil jettisoned on solar winds
until Red Eye Cinema shuts its lid—
the National Anthem,
then a static Amen.
A big toe pushes the knob.
A test pattern dims to a bright dot,
A speck shrinks into nothingness.
The dark Cyclops winks.
