POETRY
Lately, So Much Wallpaper’s Stuck on Things That Aren’t Walls
Daniel Kuriakose

Lately, So Much Wallpaper’s Stuck on Things that Aren’t Walls,

like CNN.

The news networks blink in code,
send out psychic flare guns.
“Help. I’m an illusion.”

At a high school desk last week, in
a black and white TV static sweater,
a girl peeled an almost clear,
empty plastic cup of water into bits.

Why don’t more people question object permanence?
Everything else vanishes.

She set them down to make a nest
of realities, organised like clementine segments.
But still: quite the mess.

I’ve never seen my face before.
All my parallel universe selves,

who’ve given me that “I get it” look,
from my mirror’s off limits side,
haven’t either.

I miss knowing what was real,
back when I was wrong.

I miss having ethical precedent over people.
I wish anger was a real feeling at least once.

Been punching through my room’s walls,
to get the cosmic surveillance rig to reveal itself.
I cut my arm open, again and
again to find some source code.

There’s someone on the sidewalk.
I want to rip all that gift wrap off,
fall to my knees
weep
and say
“So that’s what you look like.”


Daniel Kuriakose is an 18 year old high school senior who loves poems and is scared of dying. He lives in Woodbridge, CT.