VHS

​​

Once we were spooled, unreeling,
replayable endlessly;
even now we re-run it,
pause & rewind, overwrite
& splice in our search for it;
that line: our selves as they were
in the cassette memory.

Keep looking: the picture blurs
& shakes & all the colours
are wrong & the tape catches
& tangles in the machine;
the remote, the book of words,
the guarantee, they’re all gone:
all we have is this blank screen.