Ode To Roland Barthes

Your delight in unary space

makes for no shouts or shakes


or heart aches or breaks

if immutable spectators’ glass eyes may

only witness an emotionally absent place


flicker, flash,

smashed rubble, faces trashed


say nothing also to me

or maybe focus a mask of meaning


but search only in these

fractured moments for the naivety


simply distractible pornography

mirrors of imagination

rocks off and wasted

the time, taste, or gaze

in your memory awakened